Mike Shannon’s restaurant was going to make up for it. I was soooooooo looking forward to sinking my teeth into a perfectly cooked filet. It’s been a while since I went to a steak house, and my steaks are, well, still in development, one might say.
But not so much with the steak. I mean, it was alright. But at $38 or so for an 8 ounce fillet (and that’s just the fillet, too, no sides) it was, for me, not worth the money. I ordered it medium rare, which is was, but a tad on the side of rare, not being really fully warm inside. This is OK, not a deal breaker. But the sear on the flesh really wasn’t all that favorable. I detected virtually no up-front seasoning, for one thing. And for another, well, the thing was kind wobbly. That is to say that the sear was weak, and the meat tended to mush rather than slice when I put my knife to it.
Metal Ox and I shared two sides, the creamed spinach and a baked potato. I’d heard that Shannon’s did a fabulous baked potat, and was rather looking forward to it. It was nicely cooked, the perfect fluffy insides and slightly crispy skin one wants, but “the works” side of things – sour cream, bacon, cheese, chives – were as mediocre as the steak. The bacon really did taste like Bacos! The spinach was pretty good. Maybe the tastiest thing we tried.
And the wine. I ordered a split of cava to start, though the otherwise efficient waitress didn’t know it was a split when I asked her directly. When my steak came I ordered what I thought would be a nice pinot noir (I would have rather had the cabernet, but it was $15 a glass). It was delivered without ceremony, and was as unremarkable and the other bits of the meal.
To be fair, it was a rainout. The place was completely swamped. But you’d think an institution such as this would be able to handle the swampiness. On another point of view issue, though, there is the simple fact that MO and I aren’t really into the whole Loud Bar and Yelling Sports Fans As Ambiance thing. Maybe it was far worse than usual, given the rainout rush, but really we agreed that a quieter atmosphere might have lent a bit more enjoyment to the meal.
Well, and then there was MO’s disappointment that Mike Shannon didn’t stop by the table. He stopped by both the tables flanking us, and we were kind of looking up longingly to signal him that we’d love to shake his hand or whatever, but he just passed us by. I felt sad for MO, ‘cause honestly there’s no bigger baseball fan in the world, nor a more big hearted one. Just that day, Chicago boy that he is, he’d bought a regulation Cardinals home game cap. How many Chicago guys do that? I told him maybe we were looking too anxious, maybe we spooked Shannon; maybe he thought we wanted it too bad, smiling at him over our menus that way, our scorecards and pens in hand.
No dessert. Really, I wouldn't have wanted to spend the money, given what had appeared so far. And anyway I'd made a yummy chocolate ganache, poured over lady fingers, with little dollops of thick organic cream and chilled parfait-style, that was waiting at home. It was, by far, the most delicious thing we ate all day. Something magical happened to the lady fingers buried in that ganache. They turned rather homemade marshmallowy, and when they got into your mouth they melted into a divine crumbly-springy cakieness! And really, the Dove dark chocolate Easter Bunny that MO gave me had a fabulous flavor in that ganache! I highly recommend it. Shannon's? If someone else wanted to pay, I would give the icon one more chance. But on our dollar? I don't think so.
No comments:
Post a Comment