Lucky’s

Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

The City of Angels is the home, the mecca, the epicenter of the trendiest of trendy diets.  As one bites into one’s Langer’s #19 or double chili cheeseburger, one must suffer the slings and arrows and take arms against the advocates of the vegan, the paleo, the keto and all the other modish nutritional currents continually coursing through Lala Land.  What would a man’s man, a Clint Eastwood, eat, and where?  Massive slabs o’ meat with fried sides topped off by a three thousand calorie dessert.  How would Dirty Harry have kept the streets of San Francisco safe from felonious malefactors on a dinner of quinoa salad, nabe with mushroom dashi and lentil loaf followed by avocado Key lime pie covered in plant cream with an oat milk cappuccino?

So where should a man such as myself, a man who combines the raw machismo of Clint Eastwood with the silky style of Richard Gere, the rugged good looks of Ryan Gosling and the youthful vigor of Channing Tatum be taken by his offspring on Father’s Day?  To a steakhouse, of course.

I used to frequent BOA and Mastro’s, but I have avoided these establishments as being chased down Sunset Blvd. or Rodeo Dr. by paparazzi became tiresome.  These hotspots grew into international chains owned by private equity moguls who would use the profits from the overpriced beefsteaks to fund their Gulfstreams so they could fly for weekend golf trips at Pebble Beach.  If I am going to patronize a chain, I might as well go to Sizzler for the all-you-can-eat salad bar.  I have come to prefer the independent steakhouses such as Cut in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel or Alexander’s in Pasadena so I was overjoyed when Lucky’s in Montecito underwent mitosis and found a second home in the understated location of the original Nobu in Malibu’s Cross Creek Shopping Center.  Knowing this, my daughter, who by coincidence works in private equity, made the necessary arrangements.

Lucky’s has a sophisticated retro Rat Pack vibe.  The main dining room has dark wainscoted walls with closely, but not too closely, spaced tables covered with white tablecloths surrounded by wicker chairs to remind one of the nearby ocean.  The family can have a confidential conversation without revealing the closeted skeletons to the neighbors.  The patrons are serenaded by the Duke Ellington band, a mural of which adorns one entire wall.

Although Lucky’s specializes in steaks, the menu is extensive.  There are sundry soup (even Matzo ball), salad, cold appetizer and side options to accompany other main courses such as pan-roasted half-chicken, charred rare tuna, king salmon and lobster tail.  Every imaginable cut of steak is available as well as lamb chops and baby back ribs.  We were greeted at our table by a busboy with warm, fluffy sourdough and pumpernickel rolls and the essential cocktail menu.  I chose the Brad’s Crisp Martini, a potion of Hendrick’s Gin, St. Germain elderflower liqueur, lime juice and Sauvignon Blanc served up with a lime wheel.  All hail Brad, who has invented a drink that is as tangy and tasty as a gimlet without the pungency and packs the wallop of a Mike Tyson uppercut.

I started with the Jimmy the Greek salad, a standard Greek salad with crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, sliced onions, olives and crumbles of feta cheese with very light vinaigrette.  This refreshing salad cleansed the palate to prepare for the upcoming Brobdingnagian extravaganza.

Any self-respecting gourmand would have an irresistible impulse for pre-steak crustaceans.  Four plump, meaty chilled king prawns, known to the uninitiated as the shrimp cocktail, were served with cocktail sauce and extra horseradish on the side.

Now to the momentous and most difficult decision:  which cut of steak to order?  A bone-in rib eye?  A porterhouse served Peter Luger style?  Or a more aggressive choice such as the massive tomahawk chop?   Showing uncharacteristic restraint, I sampled two classics, the filet mignon and the New York Strip.  As in most steakhouses these days, Lucky’s rare has a cold center so I chose the filet to be cooked rare plus.  I was served a perfectly prepared thick, tender and juicy almost spherical slab of meat on a warm plate, lightly seasoned with simple salt and pepper.

The New York strip was coated with peppercorn which added to the aroma of the freshly grilled steak.  As is typical, it was slightly chewier than the filet but was tender with mild marbling.  It was prepared medium rare to release the flavor from the marbling to add to the beefy taste.

Such a testosterone charged meal must be accompanied by the requisite starch and fat so, voilà, the French fry/onion ring combo.  No description necessary.

As a Father’s day dessert special, Lucky’s was serving warm pecan pie.  A mosaic of chunky pecan halves was suspended in a thick sugary blend of eggs, butter and corn syrup in a flaky crust.  As I had already consumed enough calories to qualify for the Major League Eating circuit, I topped the pie with whipped cream rather than ice cream. 

So did I feel lucky?  To have a wonderful family treat me to a magnificent meal at a fabulous restaurant on my one day of the year?  Do I even need to answer the question?