The meat of the matter

By Merrill Shindler

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I'M looking at a headline that reads: "Studies of Atkins Diet Report Some Meaty Results." Which is not something I ever expected to see. Not because I think the Atkins Diet is wrong (actually, it's my favorite diet ever -- bacon! mmmm!). But because it wasn't so long ago that we were being told by one and all that meat was as demonic as anything in our collective larder.

We were told to eat grains, to inhale veggies, to consume fish (unless we were worried about mercury poisoning). But meat -- it was the culinary equivalent of locking yourself in the garage with the car running.

And now, we discover that meat is our friend. I always knew that in terms of taste; to lightly paraphrase Fran Lebowitz, without a piece of meat, a vegetable seems to lack a sense of purpose. But to discover that meat can lower our (bad) triglycerides, and increase our (good) HDL cholesterol; it's like standing on a precipice and discovering that falling is both fun, and good for your health.

And if you're going to eat a good hunk of beef, the best place to do your consuming is in a steakhouse, for these are veritable temples of the art; places where they understand the subtleties of a sirloin, the nuances of a New York.

Steak always has been our most sophisticated mode of consuming meat, thanks to its pomp and circumstance, the grand rituals of the beefeater, with its arcane mysteries built in the oft-consuming meaning of the various cuts.

In brief, a steer is divided into roughly 10 parts -- chuck, flank, round and so forth. The steaks served in most restaurants come from either the short loin (which is where the club cuts -- the tenderloin, the porterhouse and the T-bone -- come from) at the top middle of the animal; or the sirloin, which is just behind the short loin.

In front of the short loin is the rib cut; behind the sirloin is the round. The oft-mentioned filet mignon comes from the same tenderloin section that produces chateaubriand and tip steak.

Another way to understand the meaning of meat is to dine at the new Arnie Morton's in Burbank, where the rituals of meat- eating are expressed in their highest form. So much so that a massive platter of cello-wrapped, uncooked meat is carried to the table before the meal is served. It's quite a presentation -- here the filet mignon, there the porterhouse, observe now the New York strip, the ribeye, consider ye the veal chop, the lamb chops and a lobster hovering over it all, like a spiny deus ex machina.

The servers, true believers all, offer cooking suggestions, notes on the side dishes, observations on the cocktail and wine necessities.

It's showtime in what may be the showiest steakhouse for miles around; the generally well-behaved steakhouses of the adjacent San Gabriel Valley seem sedate by comparison. And a lot more quiet. The noise level is considerable at Arnie Morton's, which has become the watering hole of choice for those who work in the nearby studios (there's never been much competition).

It's an eatery where celebs store their private wine stashes in marked wooden cabinets near the entrance, so you can peer in and see what Pat O'Brien and Rick Dees like to drink. The wine list is extensive, with a lot of Big Reds, as you'd expect in a meat shop. The appetizers are extensive as well, and worthy of a meal in and of themselves -- I especially liked the lump crab meat cocktail, which is basically code for a bowl of lump crab meat served with a mustard-tinged mayonnaise. There are broiled sea scallops wrapped in bacon (with an unnecessary apricot chutney), and an intense lobster bisque. It's a bisque with a capital "B."



The Morton's Salad isn't quite the fabled Gigi Salad from the Palm, but it is good, especially if you like a lot of chopped egg, anchovies and bleu cheese. The steaks are cooked in an oven that's probably hot enough for smelting ingots; it chars the outside, while leaving the inside as rare (or not rare) as you wish it to be. In my experience, they get their steaks right here. I especially like the no-nonsense New York strip, a steak with a lot of flavor.

Hash browns are cooked for two, though they'd probably feed four with ease. Ditto the creamed spinach, which no deuce in Los Angeles could finish, not if they want to stay svelte. Though there's a fine souffle, the dessert of choice for me is always the New York cheesecake. You've eaten meat, it's time for cheesecake, much as it does mess up your Atkins regimen for days after.

Monty's Steak & Seafood

WHERE Arnie Morton's is loud and excellent, Monty's (which I do believe is the oldest steakhouse in Pasadena) is filled with sedate and certainly good. Even the bar at Monty's is quiet; the longtime regulars at Monty's are not given to full- throated demonstrations of emotion. They're having a good time; they're just doing it on the inside.

Like many classic steakhouses, windows are not part of the design theme at Monty's (which is also true at Morton's, at Ruth's Chris, at Fleming's, at the Palm, at the Derby; show me a steakhouse with picture windows, and I'll show you a Sizzler). This creates an immediate distance from the world outside; you walk through the door into an alternative universe. It's a land of cold beer, big steaks, big potatoes, big everything; as with olives, even the small dishes at Monty's are large.

What I like most here are the classics, of which there are many. There are the clams casino, for instance, a dish made of clams flavored with butter and bacon; nothing nouvelle about that, and nothing wrong with it either.



Should such be your persuasion, you can precede your steak with half a rack of very good ribs, which seems proper -- warming up for meat with meat. I also like the steamed clams; I always like steamed clams, if they're good.

And I have no quarrel with the signature Garbarini Salad, a mix of chopped tomatoes, onions, green peppers, mushrooms, julienned egg and bacon bits. Should you really be nostalgic, there's a salad of an iceberg wedge with a sliced tomato and bleu cheese dressing, and slices of beefsteak tomato and sliced onion -- just like they serve at Peter Luger's.

You can get pasta here, offered no doubt for those without the moxie needed to eat a big steak. Let them have their linguine Provencal and their penne Bolognese. Me, I like the porterhouse if I'm living large, and the New York if I'm feeling more in need of control.

The grills they use at Monty's don't seem quite as hot as others; they try to get the steaks charred on the outside and rare inside, but don't quite hit the point (though they're not far off).

What they do have are some very good potato sides -- you've got to try the Jim Davis taters, sauteed with onions and a lot of salt, and the skinny, crispy banjo fried sprinkled with Parmesan. You want to go for the gusto, get it with the Danish bleu cheese butter, which goes well on your bread, on your steak, on your fries, in your sauteed spinach, probably on your dessert.

And do plan to spend the next week on the treadmill.


Merrill Shindler is a free-lance writer based in Los Angeles. Write to him in care of the San Gabriel Valley Newspapers, Features Department, 1210 N. Azusa Canyon Road, West Covina, CA 91790, or by e-mail at mreats~aol.com.