KEEN’S CHOPHOUSE: POST MARATHON MANHATTAN ON A MONDAY
If I had to choose one last meal, it would be at a Manhattan Steakhouse. There is just nowhere like them on Earth.
So, when HP offered to treat me to a post marathon meal on Monday, I had little hesitation in demanding a huge hunk of beef.
We had any number of options, but I wanted to keep it fairly close to my hotel by the UN not least because I was uncertain how easy it would be for me to hobble over there.
After a couple of suggestions were dismissed we finally decided upon Keen’s Chophouse, a Manhattan institution since 1875.
For such an old established place, very few New Yorker’s I talked to had ever been there or, if they had, it was many years ago. However, I am delighted to say that it was as good a steakhouse experience as we have tried in the US. It pushed all the right buttons with the low lighting, burnished leather seating and dark wooden panelling on the walls. Just what I wanted.
What I also wanted was a martini and very well made it was too. Sufficiently large, cold and dry and gave both of us that wonderfully decadent “buzzed on a weekday lunchtime” feeling.
Standard starters of Shrimp Cocktail and Caesar Salad were very good example of their type, particularly the salad which was as well made as I have tried anywhere.
The main event though was, of course, the steak. The porterhouse for two was approximately 2 1/2 lbs of meat cooked perfectly rare to order and with a fantastic taste from the dry ageing. I have eaten a lot of steaks in my time, but this one will stay in the memory for a good long while. Indeed, probably as long as it will stay in my lower intestine.
We always insist on drinking wine from the country to which we are paying a visit, so HP chose an exemplary Green & Red Zin. Robust enough to stand up to the strong taste of the steak.
Side orders were much better than other recent steak house experiences. Excellent fries, creamed spinach and some sautéed wild mushrooms all of which were polished off by me while HP did some bone gnawage.
Puddings were perfunctory and hardly worth mentioning. So let’s just say we wrapped up the meal with some unfeasibly large post prandials. While HP picked up the sizable tab. Bless him.
Just what I wanted a very decent steak in a hugely masculine, clubby environment served by people who know exactly what they are doing which, after well over 100 years, they certainly should do.