Out & About #759 | Cagneys Steakhouse & Wine Bar + Coffee Roll Cake

​On the spookiest day of the year, we were scheduled not for an exuberance of sugar - that happened two weeks prior - but another meaty meal for two.

​Majority of the day had been spent in the kitchen, constructing yet another roll cake. I had been in constant review of similar recipes leading up the big day, yet the mere thought of rolling a warm sponge filled with cold cream was just - without any other way to declare it - unpleasant.

​The trauma never truly emerges until the stage of exasperation. Making the cake (and cream) were nearly effortless, with all whisking, baking, and washing operations completed within one hour. Meticulous temperature control also enabled the chocolate decor to materialize as pictured.

A glaze was not part of the original plan, but crept up as a potential option while in wait of the cake to set. First was a failed glaze, then a failed ganache. They were assembled with chocolate shards to form a coffee pudding, while a small portion of the ganache was drizzled over the cake in an attempt to camouflage less-than-perfect edges. In reality, the too-thin top layer contributed little beyond excess moisture.

​As for the roll itself, anxiety remains as my rolling skills only seem to diminish with each new undertaking. Roll cakes traumatize me. They taunt me and torture me with their asymmetrical cross-section and delicate exterior. I bid it farewell, until the next time it makes its way onto my request roster.

For the record, the cake tasted fantastic. Fluffy cocoa sponge contrasted nicely with an airy, flavourful coffee cream filling and crisp snaps of dark-white chocolate imprints.

​Half a decade later came the subsequent visit to Cagneys. It hadn't changed much, from what I could recall, and adopted the same moody blue undertones throughout the restaurant. The glass wine cellar remained affixed, positioned between the main dining room and sports bar-esque "lounge area". Perhaps the only difference was the addition of a plexiglass barrier at the hostess table and the mandatory mask mandate, a rule by which one member of the floor staff barely adhered. Proof of vaccination was not requested at our time of entry, and only glanced at in passing when we dug them from our purses.

​As our eyes swept across the floor to witness indisputable vacancy, it is likely that last-minute diners would also have been accommodated. Our booking had been arranged in advance via OpenTable; the hostess acknowledged the reservation then proceeded to guide us towards a corner of the dining room. It was a dim booth, positioned in a spot with potential to be easily forgotten amidst high traffic periods. Our waitress sensed a certain unwillingness to settle in, instantly offering an alternate seating arrangement. With consideration to tables eliminated for physical distancing, we shifted across the floor to a distinctly more compact booth, but one that permitted an unobstructed view of the chandelier and fireplace. Little had we known that the migration would be accompanied by a swap in servers.

The young, friendly waitress was replaced by a middle-aged gentleman, who, before even greeting us, silently swooped up my water glass and poured its contents into the glass of an adjacent table. My mouth slide agape; brow raised, I carefully inquired, "Was there something wrong?"
"There was just something on the glass." he responded exceptionally matter-of-factly, as if the action deserved no interrogation nor warning from the customers before him.

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In review of the menu, we learned of faint deviations from the version posted online. The digital format sported no context for pricing, and further excluded a standalone sheet for two-can-dine courses.
With tender tunes wallowing in the background, I opted against alcohol: the day's baking endeavour had suffused the soul with weariness, with the restaurant's ambiance only furthering my path to slumber. The decision was not regarded fondly by our new server, who grimaced at our drink requests of "warm water". He also took the opportunity to inform us that "masks (were) not required while seated, you know?". The statement had us taken aback, for our adherence to PPE was conducted out of consideration: we had not yet commenced eating, and physical distancing was not maintained with him at our table. Only a wincing nod was supplied in response, succeeded by the hushed remark of "says the guy who has his mask beneath his nose."

French Onion Soup and Buffalo Caprese were requested to start. The former had been a notable favourite from the last visit and once again proved delectable properties in light of insufficiently caramelized onions. The broth was translucent rather than clear, indicating a broth that incorporated unfiltered solids. Its visuals implied butter for smoothness and monosodium glutamate for savouriness. The jammy consistency was nowhere to be tasted, while sharp Gruyère was substituted with all-too-common mozzarella and scorched at its surface. Dehydrating effects were felt in response to the soup's presumably synthetic brininess.

​Research conducted the evening prior had informed the origins of Buffalo Mozzarella. Derived from water buffalo instead of cow, the variety was claimed richer in flavour with a faint grassiness. I was keen to experience this profile, given the ingredient's rarity at a consumer purchasing level. As opposed to the flat arrangement I had anticipated, the salad was served stacked, in the form of a stout tower, then drizzled generously with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and pesto.
With the first forkful came a fit of unstoppable coughing, triggered by the acidity of the balsamic. The next slice exuded a satiating slickness, followed by more coughing and hurried gulps of water. I had forgotten utterance of my standard "dressing on the side" note and suffered tremendously as a result.

​Our mains, we learned, were priced strictly based on the protein itself. The plates were exempt of sides altogether, and any vegetables or carbs would be considered "add-ons". A plate of Grilled Vegetables were tacked on for a supplementary seven dollars, roughly one-fifth of the entrée charges.

​New York Steak USDA Prime rang in at $34.95 for 10 oz, with options of augmenting to 12 oz or 16 oz cuts (at additional cost, of course). The Medium Rare selection was served with a heaping handful of fried onions (shallots?) and adopted a V-shape presentation. The exterior boasted an excess of sodium, while its edges were a tad veiny, making it difficult to slice. There was no toughness to be observed, though restraint in the application of salt would have yielded more preferable feedback.

Filet Mignon Bacon Wrapped came to $32.95 for 8 oz, with the option of upsizing to 12 oz. It too was topped with crispy golden strands. I was quick to deem them freshly-fried, unlike Gyu-Kaku, for each piece was embraced with the lingering scent of frying oil and a faint sweetness to finish. Its cross-section was noted pale pink - reminiscent of Medium doneness instead of the vibrant magenta associated with Medium Rare. Alas, the warmth and vibrancy of the segment may have been neutralized with the blue undertones of the restaurant's lighting, for it sliced beautifully. Sturdy was its exterior and supple was its centre, dissolving without any resistance whatsoever.
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Although flawlessly delicious, the round of red meat was likely too hot for my body to handle. Heat began to build from within, even without stimulants such as steaming beverages or alcohol in the vicinity. This heat persisted late into the evening, causing headache, sleeplessness, feverish body temperature, and flaring skin. It was, regrettably, too much of a good thing, or at least too much in one sitting.

​During a trip to the bathroom, I crossed paths with the friendly waitress and relayed our intent of a birthday celebration. "I'll bring a cake over!" she replied without hesitation. And true to her words, a pillowy New York Cheesecake with defrosted berries and chocolate sauce was delivered upon my return.
Follow-up visits from our server did not take place. He neither confirmed requests for coffee nor solicited feedback for his services and stellar attitude, but half-heartedly slid us the bill with one hand.

The meal had been fantastic as far as the gustatory experience, with reservations surrounding two of the three frontline staff members based on interactions during our visit.