High Steaks: The Steakhouses
The Original
The Pine Club
If there were such thing as a steakhouse museum, The Pine Club would be the Midwest’s representative. Wagyu? No way. Dressed designer steaks? Why cover up nature’s glory? In fact, don’t expect any reference to the pedigree of the cow—The Pine Club claims a no-nonsense set of standards. Opened in 1947 and expanded 10 years later, the pine-paneled dining room with its rows of leather covered booths appears and operates much as it did then. The proof? A photograph of the interior taken around the time the place opened hangs behind the bar—and it looks almost as if it was snapped last week.
Dimly lit with a late-night supper club vibe, the wait is long, the seating is snug, the noise level can reach a low roar, but the restaurant still attracts standing-room-only crowds for thick-cut steaks and tall highballs despite its strict policy of no reservations. (Yes, highballs: we saw more whiskey than wine, and not one pink martini in sight.) Even President George H.W. Bush and wife Barbara waited 45 minutes for a table during a 1988 visit.
Gathering three-deep around the room’s large central bar (where, above the cash register, the cremated remains of the original owner rest in a ceramic urn), customers gladly wait up to two hours for the usual suspects—porterhouses, rib eyes, filets, and strips seasoned with little more than salt and pepper, glossed with a bit of butter, and grilled to a perfect exemplar of “Pittsburgh style”: a sharply singed crust and mellow rare middle. And unlike most modern steakhouses, which compartmentalize the menu into an entirely à la carte bonanza, The Pine Club’s menu is all inclusive. That $40 bone-in filet seems practically affordable when served with salad, potato, and vegetable. Even then, you can upgrade: from the house salad to the red and blue (crisp iceberg, blue cheese and French dressing); from a baked potato to the Lyonnaise (an eight-inch potato cake studded with onions).
The Pine Club’s signature side dish, stewed tomatoes, comes straight from the tables of a million Midwestern church picnics. Immersed in butter and sugar and capped with a fried crouton crust, the glucose index of this mash could qualify it as a narcotic, and account for the abnormally high volume of sales for such a humble dish. (We heard testimonials while waiting at the bar, and counted dozens of customers with the evidence.) There are several entrée selections beyond beef, too, including a whole rainbow trout, chicken breasts marinated in The Pine Club’s garlicky house-made salad dressing, and a respect for fried food that would make Paula Deen proud.
With so many waiting customers to feed and tables to turn, diners aren’t encouraged to linger over coffee and desserts, so there simply aren’t any (although the server may suggest a grasshopper from the bar, a frothy green crème de menthe cocktail popular in the 1960s). And oh, bring plenty of cash, or a check, as The Pine Club does not accept credit cards—though if you’re caught short you can open up a Pine Club house account. Yes, they’ll send you a bill for your dinner. Through the mail. Now that’s original.
1926 Brown St., Dayton, (937) 228-5371, www.thepineclub.com
The Big Production
Carlo & Johnny
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
If it’s possible for restaurant impresario Jeff Ruby to improve upon the best, he’ll find a way. Not content to let his seven-year-old restaurant rest on its laurels, Ruby and Executive Chef Justin Leidenheimer put the Carlo & Johnny menu under the knife in 2008 for a makeover that has transformed it from a very good steakhouse menu to one that rivals some of the best in the country.
Instead of the tongue-in-cheek homage to movies and entertainers (one or two of those menu items are still hanging around), the new and improved menu is sophisticated and stylish—indeed, almost effeminate for a Ruby steakhouse—from the font to the addition of chic ingredients. But no worries: No amount of gremolata, wine-poached free-range eggs, or truffled sweet corn detracts from the stars, 16 delectable steaks that could sway the vegi-curious to recommit.
Not sure which to choose? If you prefer brawny flavor over buttery texture, go for one of the three bone-in rib cuts. Or if it’s that melt-in-your-mouth experience that raises your serotonin levels, C&J features several tenderloin cuts, including the hard to find bone-in filet. Most tenderloin trades depth of flavor for the fatty tenderness our palates are hard-wired for. But the juices concentrated near the bone give this 22-ounce, Flintstone-sized filet a boost of flavor, while the texture remains so tender, it practically cuts itself. There are the usual suspects of chops, et al, but we found the Kentucky bison strip steak one of the more interesting beef alternatives. Chewier, with a clean, grassy flavor, naturally lean bison is still uncommon in steakhouses across the country. Leave it to Ruby to pave the way.
Most of the small plates and sides display the same panache as the tricked-out dining rooms: cocktail shrimp nearly the size of bananas; braised lamb tucked into pillows of ravioli and resting in a woodsy mushroom rosemary veal broth; potato au gratin laced with pancetta. But as much as the new menu design raises the style meter for Carlo & Johnny, the picture book dessert menu barely rates above Denny’s. C’mon, Mr. Ruby, house-made desserts deserve five-star rehab too.
9769 Montgomery Rd., Montgomery (513) 936-8600, www.jeffruby.com
The Killer View
The Celestial Steakhouse
To get your attention and fistful of dollars, chophouse restaurateurs often resort to all sorts of eye-catching stratagems. They hang sides of beef in their window (Ruby’s), advertise all-you-can-eat buffets (Boi Na Braza), or encourage comely female employees to wear high heels and low necklines (well, ahem, Ruby’s again). The Celestial, on the other hand, has a built-in attraction: the cityscape view of the Ohio River, bordered by Northern Kentucky and downtown Cincinnati.
From its Mt. Adams hillside perch, the view is so stunning you may not notice the old-moneyed elegance of the room itself, or the few inconsistencies in service and menu. (Call ahead to reserve the corner table for two for an extra dose of gorgeous.) I suggest you stick with the basics of romance and steaks, and perhaps a good bottle of decently priced Cakebread Cellars cabernet sauvignon from Celestial’s award-winning wine cellar to lubricate them both. Of the steaks, the hand-cut 16-ounce strip and the 18-ounce bone-in rib eye are beautifully marbled and expertly charred, the sealed juices weeping at the first pinch of the knife.
In the “alternative entrées” you’ll find, among others, a respectable veal strip loin (though the mashed sweet potatoes are more artificially than naturally sweet) and an osso bucco that received favorable grunts of approval from the table next to us. If you want a little something to accompany your steak, there are nearly a dozen good selections, from the classic (asparagus) to the atypical (roasted Brussels sprouts with buttered walnuts). Sure, there’s crème brûlée and New York style cheesecake, but if you want to see stars in her eyes, try the fabulicious house-made pistachio ice cream, a dense creamy scoop of sweet and salty. It is heavenly.
1071 Celestial St., Mt. Adams, (513) 241-4455, www.thecelestial.com
The Country Club
Jag’s Steak & Seafood
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
“How many orchids does the restaurant use in a day?” It’s an odd question to be asking in a steakhouse, but then, we’ve just been served our seventh plate of food (dessert) and all of them, even the side dish of sautéed wild mushrooms, have sported a delicate purple phalaenopsis orchid. It seems incongruous with the seven masculine dining rooms—richly appointed in mahogany, chandeliers, and ivory linens—and ironic when most of the room’s floral arrangements are created from plastic or silk. But then, Jag’s is an unusual place.
Surrounded by car dealers, mattress stores, and plenty of ATMs, it features a ginormous menu (I counted 66 items divided amongst meats, seafood, appetizers, and salads) and prices to match. The kitchen is the domain of Chef Michelle Brown, a petite blonde with the well-scrubbed prettiness that you’d expect to find in an Abercrombie & Fitch store manager instead of a steakhouse chef. Maybe that explains why there is an orchid atop my dreamy boursin mashed potatoes.
Brown’s food is deeply flavored, if occasionally a bit busy, her steaks of the buttery-mild variety, with not too much salty char crust. All seven cuts are served with veal demi-glace and fried onion straws. According to my steak-centric dining partner, his cowboy rib eye is “too tender and uniform” (as if that’s a crime). “I like to wrestle with the bone,” he adds, though that’s a scenario that, thankfully, doesn’t get played out in this subdued dining room.
After a dessert of ice cream–filled profiteroles, we collect our pile of orchids and check out Jag’s raucous bar scene, where an unusually large number of men are rockin’ their mock turtlenecks on the dance floor to a mojo cover band. Par-tay. Now this is a scene you won’t find in your downtown beef parlors.
5980 West Chester Rd., West Chester (513) 860-5353, www.jags.com
The Sleeper
Guenther’s Steak and Seafood House
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
What does a corporate executive do when he’s been behind a desk too long? Buy a restaurant and become the convivial host, of course. That’s exactly what Frisch’s executive Todd Rion did two years ago after Guenther Olbrich decided to sell his 22-year-old restaurant. More neighborhood spot than Big Night Out, with cracker barrel chairs instead of posh supple leathers, we initially didn’t have high hopes for Guenther’s. But after one visit we drove our snarky urban attitudes back down the interstate and immediately called our friends. Why? Guenther’s offers a great steakhouse experience at half the price of the Kobe beef emporiums.
Their Maryland crab cakes are made from 80 percent crab meat and 20 percent filler; the sauerkraut balls traverse from golden crunch to creamy and back again. (The original owner was obviously German, so give the sauerkraut balls a break.) The classic California-style “Louis” salad with Thousand Island dressing is packed with crab and shrimp. Their Lyonnaise potatoes are woven with onions, slick with butter, and tossed with crisp shards of bacon, and the bread basket is filled with house-made light rye bread. Or maybe it’s just the center cut pork chops and a New York strip—with actual grill marks—lightly seasoned and simply brushed with butter. Ridiculously inexpensive ($21.50 for a 12-ounce prime grade strip, with salad, potato, and vegetable included), I don’t know of another local steak and seafood restaurant that delivers so much for so little.
Dessert is usually given little thought at steakhouses, with slices of previously frozen cheesecake or some death-by-chocolate construction. Pam Rion makes the desserts here (her warm blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream is superb), while husband Todd circulates in the kitschy room with its cowhide lamps and plastic flowers, preying on unsuspecting diners with his bananas Foster cart. As standard steakhouse desserts go, his version crowns him the banana king, but more important, it’s apparent just how much fun he’s having in his new role as master of ceremonies. The only people having more fun are his customers.
7886 Cincinnati-Dayton Rd., West Chester, (513) 777-8880, www.guenthers.com
The Never-Ending Feast
Boi Na Braza
Despite the handsome dark woods and gilded trimmings, the polished silverware and gleaming glassware, there’s something very primitive about dining at Boi Na Braza, the steakhouse that serves Brazilian-style rotisserie known as churrasco.
Perhaps it’s the passadors (meat waiters), resplendent in their gaucho finery, who descend on your table brandishing large machetes and long skewers speared with various charcoal-grilled meats. Perhaps it’s the sheer number of these men in swaggering baggy pants tucked into black leather boots endlessly circling the dining room with their dripping freight: nuggets of bacon-wrapped filet mignon, picanha, burnished and crisped chicken legs. Bottom sirloin. Top sirloin. Lamb chops. Lamb leg. Ribs—both beef and pork. Or perhaps it’s the aggressiveness with which this meat blow-out is paraded before you—as if the passadors earn a commission for how much they unload—appealing to our most base appetite until you emerge from the carnal spell and beg them to stop...now…please.
But then there is always the salad and sides bar to assuage your guilt. This is not your garden variety bar, but a five-sided island of excess. Cold platters of salads line up deli-style on ice; large chafing dishes filled with hot foods—mashed potatoes, shiitake mushrooms, broccoli in cheese sauce, black beans, rice—are angled and labeled like sentinels at a wedding banquet. Between the bowls of pickled and marinated vegetables, the wheels of cheese, the platter of smoked salmon and rows of sliced salami and proscuitto, there’s a superabundance of decor. “Flowers” carved from turnips and dyed in Easter-egg colors blossom from a bed of kale. Dozens of varieties of olive oils and vinegars rim the bar at eye level, and colossal dried floral arrangements tower from the center to the ceiling. It’s not all delectable, but Americans are world famous for confusing quantity with quality.
Once you’ve finally surrendered, a rolling dessert cart appears faster than you can say “No mas.” If you must, I recommend avoiding the mile-high club of cheesecakes and tortes (none house-made) and stick with the fresh papaya cream, or the flan, both of which are light enough not to aggravate the tipping point. “Alternative eaters” can forget about it—this is a meat feast, without so much as a filet o’ fish in sight. The price to sate your rapacious appetite? $47.50 per person (for the meat and salad bar only; dessert and drinks are extra), and an overwhelming urge to take a nap.
441 Vine St., downtown, (513) 421-7111, www.boinabraza.com
The Hideaway
Red
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
Red (the restaurant) knows how to use red (the color) to make an impression. Check out the restaurant bar as you walk in: Uplit in a soft crimson glow, it suggests the possibility of a sultry encounter. In the shotgun style dining room, tables dressed in crisp white cloths line up against a wall painted Chinese red, perhaps a subliminal message to whet your appetite and enthusiasm. A hint of love is provided by a vase with a single red tulip.
Swanky without the stodgy steakhouse machismo, stylish without the affected look of a too-trendy handbag, Red skillfully balances the masculine and feminine. Unadulterated versions of grilled prime strip, and grilled filet? Got it. Nearly a pound and a half of porterhouse or bone-in rib eye? Yep, that too, with all the usual toppers and then some—it’s not often that a whole crab cake is offered as a steak topping. Orthodox steakhouse diners will hold fast to favorites like sweet lobster bisque, oysters on the half shell, or a petite version of the iceberg wedge. But Chef Grayson Musson broadens her chophouse reach by featuring an extensive list of alternative entrées. Cold water lobster tails are the featured seafood of the house, and a half dozen other meats receive various seasonal preparations.
During a spring visit, a pan seared duck breast took a departure from the conventional accompaniment of red fruits and rice, its tender slices fanned out over lo mein noodles and served with mango relish and hoisin butter. Other unexpected choices included a shrimp tamale, a side of truffle basil gnocchi, and a cheese flight with wine pairings. Bonus: Musson worked in the kitchen of Maisonette, where she made gallons of their legendary dark and white chocolate mousses. Not that she’s caught red-handed, but we suspect the “Trio of Mousse” on the dessert menu is, ahem, stellar.
2724 Erie Ave., Hyde Park, (513) 871-3200, www.red2724.com
The Low Profile
Jimmy D’s
There’s no neon sign or even a visible entry to announce its existence. Neither is there a uniformed valet or shapely hostess dressed in black to greet you. No dark woods or leather, seductive lighting or Rat Pack soundtrack. In fact, if Jimmy D’s didn’t serve steaks, you might expect a typical suburban mom-and-pop restaurant—albeit a really expensive one.
Once you find the restaurant (tucked into a strip of shops off Cooper Road), proprietor Jimmy Duane or his partner Pat are most likely to see you to your table. But don’t let their folksy demeanor or the white walls and antiseptic blonde decor trick you into thinking this will be a bland experience. On the contrary, Jimmy D’s had some of the most aggressively charred crust of any of the steaks on our tour. Comprised of a salty, garlicky rub, some steakhounds swear it is the correct and only way to cook steak, while others claim that well-marbled prime beef is flavorful enough for just a suggestion of salt and pepper. The dry-aged, bone-in, Kansas City strip (the sirloin cut was supposedly associated with the Midwest before New York appropriated it) is the best of the bunch. It packs a meaty one-two punch: dense in texture, it tends to trap the juices better than rib eyes, producing a splendid succulence. Other beef cuts include filet, cowboy, and porterhouse; as well as several surf (lobster and salmon) and turf (veal, chicken, or lamb) options. There are few surprises in the side dishes, but the sweet-hot oven-roasted carrots are a standout, as are the creamy scalloped potatoes.
Like most small, family run places, service tends more toward friendly and casual than polished and hyper-knowledgeable (we did better picking from the wine list on our own than getting any thoughtful recommendations). But then, flashy personality is not necessarily a requirement for good steakhouse dining. Sometimes it’s simply about the steak.
Jimmy D's closed its doors in late June after our July issue went to press.
The Expense Account
Morton’s, The Steakhouse
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
No one has replicated the concept of an expensive boys’ club better than Morton’s. From cutlery as large as Bowie knives to lobsters slightly smaller than a compact car, size matters, whether you’re dining in Singapore or Cincinnati. Amid the dark polished woods and white linen, the Riedel stemware and stupendous flower arrangements, assorted suits grapple with double cut filet mignons, 24 ounces of porterhouse, pink shiny slabs of prime rib, overflowing plates of salty Lyonnaise potatoes, or mammoth iceberg wedges frosted with thick blue cheese dressing.
Jumbo is Morton’s decree: Oversized martini and wine glasses, ethereal towering lemon soufflés and layers of chocolate velvet cake, roomy chairs, and tables large enough for a plate and a laptop. Even steaks billed as “slightly smaller” weigh in at a backyard grill meister’s weight of 12 ounces. But to get to those, you must endure Morton’s visual menu. With the enthusiasm of second graders during show and tell and the efficiency of flight attendants, service staff recite the menu with the aid of props.
Salads: Look at this gorgeous tomato I hold before you. Vegetables: Only the freshest asparagus (hold up right hand) and broccoli (and left) will do. Steaks: Are these beauties or what? We’re talking USDA prime aged, corn-fed beef shipped directly from Chicago (hold up several shrink-wrapped cuts). Sides: We use hand-picked Idaho potatoes (shine the penlight). If Conan O’Brien was a meat peddler, he’d be booked at Morton’s. Not that such a dog and pony show seems to matter much to the serious steak-heads scattered throughout the restaurant. Like most objective diners, they know it produces a sense of occasion that Morton’s is capable of living up to.
441 Vine St., downtown, (513) 621-3111, www.mortons.com
The Classic
The Precinct
Photograph by Ryan Kurtz
This 27-year-old Cincinnati steakhouse has set the standard for all others. Back in the day, The Precinct was the meatery for visiting glitterati and local sports heroes. They’d wolf down steaks the size of catcher’s mitts, then head upstairs to the crowded second floor club to rub elbows and down wickedly strong cocktails (if you ran fast and loose in the early ’80s, you likely dropped a few brain cells there, too). Since then, it’s mellowed into an unpretentious outpost for signature steaks and chops named after the preferences of many of the notable athletes who still frequent the intimate dining room. The most well known of these is the Steak Collinsworth, a rich filet mignon decked out in the added luxury of king crab legs, asparagus, and béarnaise sauce. With the included potato and house salad (unique to Jeff Ruby’s restaurants, the combo makes The Precinct a relative bargain), it’s possible to consume your recommended daily allowance of calories in one fell swoop.
As in his other steakhouses, Ruby’s Gem and Jewel cuts—bone-in filet and rib eye, respectively—are the very best steaks on the menu. The list of sides and apps is short, but should you wish for some Fettuccine Alfredo with your porterhouse, you’ll get it with a floor show, in a classic tableside preparation.
With all of the steakhouse competition out there, great beef alone is not enough to have kept The Precinct in top form. Impeccable service from the loyal, long-serving staff—the valet, who barely blinks an eye at your 10-year-old Honda; manager Tony Ricci, who works the dimly lit dining room glad-handing customers like a well-seasoned politician—is largely responsible for a restaurant still at the top of its game long after others have come and gone.
311 Delta Ave., Columbia-Tusculum (513) 321-5454, www.jeffruby.com
The Scene
Jeff Ruby’s Steakhouse
It’s easy for some to dismiss Jeff Ruby as a cigar-chomping, bombastic entrepreneur who has cultivated the culture of cleavage and celebrity for his own gain. To that I say, so what? Who doesn’t like cleavage? Dine at his restaurants and you’re reminded that Ruby is a skilled restaurateur who has mastered the union of great food, great service, and the theater of dining. With its prime urban location and supper club atmosphere, this steakhouse best exemplifies his mastery.
Filled most nights with local scenesters and power brokers (and those who think they are), everything is generous—from the portions to the expert service to the, er, cleavage. Black-jacketed waiters with white, floor-length aprons move through the mosaic of raised booths and tables, Art Deco lighting and mirrors, depositing two-fisted martinis and stacks of king crab legs, or mounds of greens dressed in thin vinaigrettes or thick, creamy emulsions. An occasional tuna, salmon, or halibut makes an appearance, usually in front of someone who doesn’t “do” red meat, and there’s a small but decent assortment of chops—lamb, veal, and pork—that eventually pique your curiosity if you dine here enough. But most customers, even the willowy model types, inhale slabs of beef like they’re dining in a crack house for carnivores.
USDA prime beef is dry-aged on the premises (dry aging is a process that breaks down connective tissue, tenderizing the meat and producing a concentrated, almost nutty, beef flavor), and hand-cut into five different steaks. The best of these is Jeff Ruby’s Jewel, nearly a pound-and-a-half of bone-in rib eye. Exquisitely crusted and moistened by its natural juices, it has a robust chew and penetrating flavor that’s guaranteed to get the dopamine coursing through your pleasure centers.
Of all the bone-in rib eyes we ate on this tour of duty, it was our clear favorite. Lest you think I’m too dramatic—it’s just a steak after all—I say you’ve been standing over your backyard Weber for too long. This is steak tailor-made for movers and shakers.
700 Walnut St., downtown, (513) 784-1200, www.jeffruby.com
The Big Table
Embers
Like its more casual sibling Trio, Embers has a menu built for celebration. The poshly priced steak and sushi selections are meant to suit every special occasion that might occur in the first-class neighborhoods and shopping mecca surrounding this restaurant, from rehearsal dinners to corporate events to multi-generational family gatherings and intimate anniversaries.
Reaching beyond the customary steakhouse menu, Embers amalgamates menu trends. Appetizers are both classic (shrimp cocktail) and Asian-inspired (beef satay); fashionable ingredients are name-checked (micro-greens and black truffles); a prominent sushi section (nigiri, sashimi, and rolls) precedes a list of archetypal salads; beer-sodden American Wagyu beef sidles up to steaks of corn-fed prime; home-style non-steak entrées (chicken pot pie) meet high-style selections (seared scallops with wild mushroom risotto and pea tendril salad); all of it capped with special promotions (Half price sushi on Wednesdays! Free Graeter’s ice cream on Sundays!).
Skip the soulless baby back ribs and some of the mediocre “alternative” entrées, and focus on the lightly seasoned, favorably singed steaks. There’s an ample selection of cuts—unadorned except for a stack of onion rings—plus a couple of composed filets in the Oscar and Maytag blue styles. Like most contemporary steakhouses, Embers features a Kobe steak, or more accurately, American Wagyu (a well-fed breed of cattle raised in the attentive Kobe style). Its remarkable tenderness and flavor is the hallmark of its hallowed union of flesh and fat. The top cap sirloin has a dense marbling that results in an intense flavor and a texture that resembles beef crossed with foie gras—initially a vigorous chew that melts to silk on the tongue, and then slides down the throat like a great wine. Talk about a party.
8170 Montgomery Rd., Madeira, (513) 984-8090, www.embersrestaurant.com
Originally published in the July 2008 issue.
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