When you dine at
Smith & Wollensky, you have apparently arrived. When you show up dressed as we were, you have arrived in style. Keep in mind, our neighboring diners were clad in t-shirts and jeans. As it turns out, showing respect by just dressing in a civilized manner (according to the prices/establishment) and merely acknowledging the professional manner of a polite and knowledgeable waitstaff (by acting like civilized humans) can earn you some brownie points in places such as this. As an example, the manager approached us to take the above picture without any initiation on our part.
In this broken civilization, it is socially acceptable for any given college student with a trust fund to assume that his/her wealth translates to absolute power. Perhaps it does, but I just think that paying for a $50 steak should entail an experience absent of seeing people act like over-privileged children that never grew up.
The responsibility of finding a special place to dine on New Year's Eve was cast upon me, so I went for the obvious choice that was worth the money: steak. Perhaps I'm just a glutton for all things "beef." Still, I've always found steakhouses to be the classiest of restaurants that still maintain some sense of character, while serving any given customer with the understanding that each dollar in the bill is spent for a purpose. This appetizer consists of some combination of tomatoes, mozzarella and olive oil. Have I had better cheese? Probably. Was the oil a little too thick for my own taste? I must confess, it was. But was it worth the price? Absolutely.
At this point, I should mention that our waiter had the spitting image of
George McFly, of
Back to the Future fame. The epitome of a true professional, George (henceforth, he as shall be known as such) paid attention to every detail. Aside from serving the Filet Mignon for Megan and NY strip for me, George and his understudy plated our sides. It's that extra bit of effort on the part of the waitstaff that makes the exorbitant cost of the meal seem somewhat worthwhile --if you're paying this much, you really shouldn't have to deal with extra inches between your side dishes and your plate. Following the general rule that steak should be accompanied by something green and something deriving from potatoes, we ordered asparagus and "whipped" potatoes.
Despite stuffing ourselves on the main course, a dessert seemed inevitable. Catering to the bossy and overpaid, this establishment did the homework for its consumers by suggesting a particular dessert wine to be paired with each delicacy. It was at this point that I truly appreciated the service of George. We ordered the comically over-sized (the picture does no justice) chocolate cake, accompanied by two glasses of the "recommended dessert wine." I watched as he scribbled on his pad, nodded, and then came to an abrupt stop after walking ten feet. Upon scurrying back, he leaned over to tell us that, "while the 'paired' drink goes excellently with this dish, I should note that the '[some name I can't possibly recall]' might also complement the dish quite well. [pause] Shall I fetch one of each, or two of what you ordered?" His suggestion was actually cheaper, but only by a small amount. A quick exchange with Megan of looks that conveyed the reckless sense of, "what the hell?" solidified the deal. As it turns out, each of us quickly gravitated toward a different glass, disliking the alternative. Perhaps George was a sexist bastard that assumed all women just preferred sparkling wine, but I actually prefer to think that he knew exactly what would suit each of us by our individual steak preferences. Either way, it worked out quite well for each of us... until we had to walk again.
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