Wednesday, August 24, 2011


My namesake on Margaret Street between Southard and Fleming. The idea was to take our out of town guest to a pretty place with a nice outdoor garden seating area and a good reputation.

We've had their bar stool fondue before and we've been to eat dessert including their famous volcano chocolate cake pudding. This was to be a full on dinner and I was rubbing my hands with anticipation.

We got the lovely outdoor seating under a stout canopy, for thunder and lightning threatened mightily, though nothing much came of it. Our appetizers included coconut shrimp which I liked a lot as the coconut wasn't overdone and oysters Rockefeller which somehow lost the flavor of the cooked shellfish in the midst of the other ingredients.

My wife does love her crab cakes and she pronounced this appetizer as good but salty. It seemed fine to me but I am no connoisseur...The main course was to be steak for which this place is famous though I also liked the decor of the men's loo. Very Italian and it should be famous too.

Darkness fell as the leisurely meal progressed apace. We had a refreshing bottle of red, though I'm damned if I know why servers feel like they are doing me a favor by refilling my glass obsessively from MY bottle. I don't like feeling forced to order more wine against my will. It's not like they will pay my DUI costs.

The cheese sauce was not as good as my wife's and she does a bang up job with some smelly cheese and a piece of steak. My sauce tasted more like lumps of barely melted cheese dribbled on the meat, which was cooked through as I like it, against the rules of good taste. That made me very happy as all too frequently we are told that unless our meat is raw we are breaking the rules. Fuck the rules; I'm not French, and if I sound truculent it's because I'm tired of being sniffed at for wanting my dead cow medium-well. I'll let you know if I want blood on my plate, thanks. Michaels did well on that score.

The place was packed as everywhere seems to be in Key West and my wife, who thought I was crazy for suggesting we make a reservation, took back her words when she found we had to take a later sitting...

Which may account for the fact that our much anticipated volcano, shared between three of us, was not piping hot and filled with bubbling liquid chocolate sauce. A tepid volcano is not a suitable ending to a tepid dining experience at full price.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad


Brady said...


I hereby revoke your right to eat beef.

(I used to cook in a French restaurant)

I don't care how you actually eat your steak, though medium is a nice way to get a little pink without the big pile of blood.

Medium well is as far as you should ever go, though, well-done is like written permission to the cook to take the gnarliest, oldest hunk of shit meat out of the back of the meat cooler and cook the absolute piss (flavor) out of it. The waiter may turn his nose up, but the cook thanks you for helping with his food costs.

Behind Bars - Motorcycles and Life

Conchscooter said...

I am a skunk I know, but by way of compensation I rarely rape and pillage and I pay my taxes without grumbling, and I will likely end up voting for Ron Paul next year if he is on the ticket.
Can I be allowed back into the family of nations?