Peter Luger

I’m off eating meat again. Peter Luger is to blame. But it’s not what you think.

Brooklyn’s Peter Luger is known as one of the best steakhouses in the country (and the world?). And when my dad came to town recently there was really no question as to where my Aunt Rose wanted to take him. And what Aunt Rose wants, Aunt Rose gets. She’s 90, so she’s earned the right to dictate where we eat supper. I just wish she had better taste. Joking.

I anticipated this meal for months– both for the food and the company. My dad lives in Seattle, so we don’t see each other much and Rose’s niece Susan joined us all the way from Houston, Texas. It was a rock solid crew who was ready to meat party. And the food did the opposite of fall short.

After taking my first bite of PL’s trademark t-bone, I felt like I had never had steak before. It made every beef cut into strips concoction seem like a meager imitation of what steak was supposed to be. It was smooth and buttery and easy to chew and seasoned so lightly that you could most prominently taste the cut as opposed to the things it was cooked in. I clearly can’t indulge like this for a really long time for obvious health reasons, but also because no other steak will ever measure up. So I shall go meatless from now on. Or until someone suggests going to Shake Shack. Whichever comes first.

On the health front, we did incorporate some vegetables into our feast. There was creamed spinach, fresh cut tomatoes paired with Peter Luger’s famous bacon, steamed broccoli, and my favorite veggie of them all– french fries. The large cuts of spud were cooked to crispy on the outside and tender on the inside perfection. And when dipped into the meat jus they transformed into something even better. A seemingly impossible feat. So it was like really nutritious. No need to work out after… right?

This meal took a couple days to recover from. For a while my heart moo’ed instead of thumped. But it was worth it. So as I bite into my boca burgers and chew on lumps of steamed tofu, I’ll close my eyes and pretend I’m eating the best of the best with the best of the best in Brooklyn. Because that’s what Aunt Rose would want.

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