The Manual 2.0 
The Elite Meat to Eat
Hungry for a 24-ounce RIBEYE? Steak is back in a big way—and steakhouses are sizzling. From Buffalo Gap to Galveston and fancy to funky, here are the ten best places to get …
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I evaluated the steakhouses as I would any restaurant, not just on the meat but on the service, the atmosphere, and a certain feeling of energy and flair. For that reason, some steakhouses that serve exceptional meat—like Paul’s Porterhouse in Dallas—aren’t on the final list, whereas some that serve mediocre food but have abundant chutzpah—like the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo—are. Personally, I like my steakhouses either funky or fancy, not middlebrow bland. I’d prefer to pay top dollar at Pappas Brothers in Houston for a superlative cut of meat or to scrimp at the legendary Joe Allen’s in Abilene or the Hoffbrau in Austin for a minimal-quality but tasty steak, a relentlessly scruffy setting, and plenty of local color.
To my surprise, I wasn’t impressed with most of the famous old-time steakhouses I visited. A lot of people are going to be steamed when they read this, but many of the beloved names of Texas steakdom—Zentner’s and Zentner’s Daughter in San Angelo (and other cities), Brenner’s in Houston, the Grey Moss Inn in San Antonio, Cattleman’s of Fort Worth, and Cattleman’s of El Paso—aren’t what they’re cracked up to be, or perhaps what they used to be. At some of these the meat is excellent, at some it’s not, but the overriding problem is that they haven’t changed the rest of their menu in decades.
When I began this story I had not eaten beef at all for six months. What surprised me was how much I enjoyed making its acquaintance again. Great beef is seductive, it is naughty, and it is delicious. A superb steak—lightly charred on the outside, deep pink within, lush and running with juices—is deeply, primally satisfying, psychologically as well as physically. As a friend of mine said, “When I eat a steak, it makes me so happy.”
Best Big-City Steakhouse
Pappas Brothers, Houston
5839 Westheimer, 713-780-7352. Opened 1995. Serves prime beef that is dry aged for 28 days on the premises, seasoned with kosher salt and pepper, and cooked at 1,500 degrees in an upright broiler. A twelve-ounce filet is $23.95 à la carte.
• Posh and pricey, this triumphant venture of Houston’s Pappas family restaurant dynasty epitomizes the nineties steakhouse revolution. Does it have prime beef? Yes. A trophy wine list? Yep. A $3.7 million edifice with a dark, men’s-clubby atmosphere? Absolutely. A phone in every booth? But of course. Nothing has been left to chance, from the cleverly crowded entry (where all of the 550 or so customers the restaurant serves nightly seem to be standing when you arrive) to the postprandial pitch for vintage port or rare cognac. Under the direction of chef Michael Velardi, the menu focuses on stylish classics such as shrimp remoulade, Maine lobster, and a three-peppercorn steak—the last a fine, firm, assertively sauced New York strip. At the same time, it reassures with homey staples like skillet potatoes and the signature Moonpie, a staggeringly rich, architectural sweet with homemade marshmallow cream and Heath Bar crumbles. A final tip: Singles and duos without reservations should try for a seat at the bar—the service is excellent, and the energetic open kitchen is an engaging ad-lib show.
Best Small-Town Steakhouse
Fort Griffin General Merchandise, Albany
U.S. 180, 915-762-3034. Opened 1981. Serves choice Black Angus beef that is wet aged for fourteen days, rubbed with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic and onion powders, oregano, nutmeg, and cinnamon, and grilled over mesquite. A fourteen-ounce filet is $18.95, including potato and soup or salad.
• Here we are in the land of chicken-fried steaks, presweetened iced tea, and George Jones on the jukebox, but something is going on. Inside this small, unpretentious 1907 storefront, the Gipsy Kings are on the sound system, excellent steaks and oysters on the half shell are on the menu, and bud vases with fresh roses are on the tables. This restaurant in the windswept West Texas town of Albany is the best country steakhouse in the state. Locals sustain it during the week, and ranchers drive in from miles around on weekends. Tommy Lee Jones and Clint Eastwood ate here while shooting movies in the area; Robert Duvall liked the restaurant’s handsome bar so much he had it copied for his house. Plain folks and stars come for expertly cooked Angus steaks and Friday and Saturday specials such as veal chops, rack of lamb, or shrimp Diane, cajun-spiced and sautéed to a turn. Side dishes run to pan-fried battered mushrooms, fresh asparagus, the aforementioned pristine oysters, and fat stuffed grape leaves drenched in lemon sauce. Like the exiled chef in the movie Babette’s Feast, brothers Ali and Nairman Esfandiary have been feeding the souls of their fellow men for sixteen years. There is life beyond the chicken-fried steak.
Best Chain Steakhouse
Del Frisco’s Double Eagle Steakhouse, Dallas, Fort Worth, Denver
Dallas, 5251 Spring Valley Road, 972-490-9000; opened 1993.
Fort Worth, 812 Main Street, 817-877-3999; opened 1995. Serves prime beef that is first wet aged and then dry aged (21 days total), seasoned with salt and pepper, and cooked in an upright broiler at 1,800 degrees. A fourteen-ounce filet is $24.95 à la carte.
• Want to know what a cash cow looks like? Drop by Del Frisco’s Dallas location practically any night of the week: The bar is stacked five deep, the air is foggy with cigar and cigarette smoke, and megadecibels are bouncing off the walls. Almost as mobbed, the dining rooms are filled with the muffled sound of knives slicing through prime steaks. This is the top-grossing restaurant in Texas, with sales of $12 million in 1995. Its parent company, Lone Star Steakhouse and Saloon of Wichita, Kansas, is taking Del Frisco’s nationwide, opening three restaurants this year and up to fifty eventually. The winning formula combines fearless pricing (the average check is $50 to $60 a person) with hawk-eyed and down-home-friendly service. Our waitress gave a long and cogent explanation of the menu without missing a beat, all in a perfect Texas drawl. Decor matters too: Forest-green carpeting and dark wood paneling with a carved Longhorn motif conjure a classy Texas saloon. The textbook-perfect steaks are cooked exactly to order. The side dishes are fine, if not quite in the same league—the chain’s hallmark ranch-avocado dressing could have been spunkier and chunkier, for example, and the sherry-laced turtle soup proved rather salty and oily. But the pile of crisp, paper-thin homemade potato chips made an addictive alternative to the usual spuds. Maybe it’s just my Texas roots, but I felt more satisfied and at home here than at any of the other big chains. In the coming steak wars, Del Frisco’s will be a contender.
Best Steakhouse for Epicures Chamberlain’s
Prime Chop House, Addison
5330 Belt Line, Addison, 972-934-2467. Opened 1993. Serves prime beef that is wet aged for 21 days, seasoned with salt and pepper, cooked in an upright broiler at 1,000 degrees, and served with a stock-based jus. A twelve-ounce filet is $23.95 à la carte.
• Most steakhouses have cooks; Chamberlain’s has a chef—Richard Chamberlain, who made a name for himself at Dallas’ cutting-edge San Simeon and Crescent Club in the early nineties. Other steak purveyors spend millions on decor; Chamberlain’s creates a welcoming atmosphere with warm, wood-paneled walls accented with shaded sconces and oversized European art posters from the thirties. Many steakhouses make a fetish of simplicity, serving the likes of baked potatoes and wedges of iceberg lettuce; Chamberlain’s enjoys the occasional fling with complexity. Take, for instance, two condiments that normally would come out of jars: Homemade Worcestershire sauce makes a full-bodied but subtle accompaniment that enhances grilled portobellos like nothing else; and mango chutney, also homemade, is a sparkling foil for satiny baked sea scallops. Other dishes are less involved: al dente corn kernels in cream and spinach Parmesan gratin, which was too salty when I was there. The simplest offerings of all—and Chamberlain’s raison d’être—shine. The mixed grill of elk, duck, and venison swabbed with a salty, buttery sauce offers a short course in meat appreciation. And the 24-ounce porterhouse—a magnificent, sprawling slab of meat—reminded me why human beings have canine teeth.
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