The Luger Hoax

I've been angling for an invite to JChef's parent's place for weeks now. He speaks Oedipally of his mom's steak and potatoes, and has even brought me by her butcher for an appraisal, though it's unclear which one of us was being appraised. I was hoping my bat mitvah birthright would give me some sort of parental clearance; but as I sit by my phone, fingering my star-of-David, it fails to ring.

That said, there's a blog that needs writing, and all his talk of steak leaves me wanting, so I schlepped over to Peter Lugers. That mecca of meat, coliseum of carnivory; the palace of power for Wall Street's well-endowed. The ultimate New York steakhouse resides in Brooklyn, as it should.

Until Monday it was a place I'd never been. Sure, I'd worked those T-bones in the middle of the night, standing in my nightshirt with the fridge door open, eating out of a doggie bag that was a gift for my pup (she can have them when I'm done). I've begged for descriptions of Lugers, and it was true to it's legend, a German yesteryear functional with bleached tables, Brooklyn attitude, and the tangled odors of money and flesh.

O but were it still a fantasy; I could look forward to eating there again.

The onion rolls were good, yes, but wasn't my Grandfather bringing these home from the corner bagel shop decades ago? The tomato and onion salad; is it me, or is this the most basic platter of an out-of-season fruit and a sweet onion? Thank god for the Luger Sauce, and for the good sense of my dining partner who ordered a couple of pieces of uber fatty, perfectly charred melting bacon. If only they would have cryovac'd a few slabs for me to take home; this blog would be different.

The only take home I got was a couple of pieces of Lugelt, some big gold coins of waxy milk chocolate with the name Luger on it. Oh, and a USDA approved list of internal temperatures for cooking meat, better known in cook circles as "How to ruin a good piece of beef." I don't know what kind of Luger lobbyists had to work their magic in DC to get this thing through, but a home cook trusting enough to cook their steak to this degree would be hanging up their tongs for good. It's guaranteed failure.

I felt taken. Or maybe I'm just pissed that I got put in the front room with the other non-players, including:

• Martini Mum: Wearing sweatpants, running sneakers and some sort of Irish knit. Fell asleep twice in her martini, but motivated herself to finish an entire plate of beef.
• East Side Lady, Husband in Tow: The Bergdorf and Barney's bags spoke volumes. She tossed her floor length fur on the back of her chair, and I believe she ordered chicken.
• Out of Town Clan: Long-legged, red-haired Daisy Duke-a-like daughter, extremely overdressed and made up (you get the feeling that selling her was the last option before the bank foreclosed on the farm), Pappy in overalls and a plaid flannel, Momma with one thick long braid down the length of her back, the size (and width) of a piece of rope you'd use to secure a large boat to a dock.
• Lugers Wouldn't Be Complete Without: The low-grade mafia crowd, white t-shirts and thick gold chains, greasy hair slicked back, all talkin' like Cristopha. The cash-only policy doesn't phase them; they haven't paid with credit since they started working...uh...construction.
• Fat Bankers with Golden Cuff Links: It's so Bonfire. Haven't the really rich people moved to khaki's and buttondowns? I date myself; I'm still in the nineties. Must be why we're all in the front room together.

And yes, the T-bone came out spitting butter on it's hot plate, and yes the waiter did that cool serving trick with the two spoons, and basted the steak with more and more butter (hoping to get some fatty goodness in it). The meat was slightly overcooked, medium instead of medium rare, but as soon as I was done with the meat I picked up that bone up and went to town, becoming:

• Why is She Here Girl: A shot of makers and a steak. Probably a first timer, certainly knows how to wear her food. Keep an eye on her; may run out on the check.

All told, with the $200 that was spent, I'd rather go to a New York restaurant like Annisa or Perry Street, or a classic like Eleven Madison or Gotham, where someone is at least making an effort with the food.

As a home cook with $200, I could buy 7 first-cut 5-pound briskets at an overpriced grocery, or fill my freezer with some meat from Costco, some fatty ribeyes, and some cheap stuff like skirt steaks and hangar steaks. If I wanted food-ter-tainment, I'd go to Tony and Tina's Wedding. Or just invite my friends and family over. They're characters enough.

But I was at Lugers, and I paid a initiation fee. Country clubs are never known for their food (I just love what you've done with Tuna with Miracle Whip. Can I get the recipe for your Cream Cheese and Jelly on White Bread? I mean, just the other day I was longing for a little Tomato Aspic...); they are known for their exclusivity. In fact, fingering my star of David as I was, I was lucky to be let in. Next time I want tasty piece of meat, I'll be cooking it.

Skirt Steak that Satisfies
By Allison Fishman, The Wooden Spoon

Skirt is a basic cheap cut whose meat appears a bit shaggy, but is fatty where it counts and oh so flavorful. A great cut for college kids, summer bbq’s, Tuesday nights, or anyone on a budget. No ceremony, just good steak. Serve with a dollop of pesto, on top of a salad, or stuff into onion rolls smeared with Luger sauce.

1 1/2 pounds skirt steak (3/4-inch to 1-inch thick)
Salt and pepper
Canola oil

1. Remove the steak from the fridge and let sit at room temp for 10 or 15 minutes (let it warm up a bit). Pat dry with paper towels, if needed, and season very, very well with salt and pepper.

2. In a medium skillet over medium high heat, heat the oil. Place steak, fatty side down in the hot skillet. Cook 4 minutes, or until nice and brown. Turn and cook the other side until browned, 3 to 4 minutes. If you poke the steak with your finger, it should have a good amount of give; less than when it was raw, but more than a toned bicep. Supple. This will be a good medium-rare, just warmed in the middle and reddish pink.

3. If you want it more well done, you’re on your own. Turn on your oven and throw the steak in until you’ve cooked out all the flavor. Bon Appetit!