Out & About #834 | Blackstone Steakhouse + Nani's Gelato

​After parting ways with my birthday buddy, I dashed home for accessory and footwear swaps. Dinner with the sleepy polar bear would take place shortly, at a restaurant recommended by another July baby.

​While not entirely convinced that the restaurant itself demanded business casual attire, I complied with steakhouse-appropriate dress code anyway.

Pulling into the asphalt lot just as the skies were about to dim, dampness cloaked the plaza, and greyness reduced clarity. Only a handful of streetlights had been installed.

​​We entered the premises to find a smoky haze filling the compact space, and were then informed of a thirty minute wait. The tables were tightly packed within the space, giving way to food fumes and noise pollution.
"That's it. My knit cardigan is going into wash. My hair will need to be washed again." I thought, as we hovered about the waiting area.

I had been provided the recommendation of the Tenderloin 8 oz. from the Steaks on Stone section. In spite of the drizzle of Argentinean Chimichurri, the dish was confirmed to be entirely mild, much to my relief. Opting to halt all menu investigations, I took to this item and looked no further. At being unable to find Prime Rib, the sleepy polar bear began to express distress. Some quick Googling led us to learn that the ribeye was "cut from the most tender part of the rib", allowing me to convince the sleepy polar bear in seeking out this alternative.

​​Some twenty-ish minutes later, the middle-aged hostess guided us towards our table, an undeniably cramped two-seater with peeled faux leather chairs, a sauce-stained median on one side, and a splendid view of the kitchen/dining floor access swing door. Mind you, the fumes and noise levels only intensified.

​On our table resided two sets of napkin-wrapped utensils, but not a single menu in sight. We relayed our requests to the first server to approach our table, who repeatedly our orders somewhat absentmindedly while scribbling shorthands on his paper pad. The smoky, disordered steakhouse offered four choices of sides: Blackstone Fries, Mashed Potatoes, Grilled Veggies, and Caesar Salad. Given that two sides were included in each order, we each took to a different combination to maximize our sample size.

The single earring-donning server declared that it would be possible to have gravy served on the side instead of poured atop the Mashed Potatoes, though less probable with the Caesar Salad, given that "the restaurant is very busy", implying pre-tossed batches of semi-wilted lettuce.

​Two glasses of water had been requested as well, one cold and one warm.
I had taken the opportunity to obtain details on their mocktail assortment, in particular the Salt and Pepper Lime Soda. At seeing his dodgy responses, I pressed for clarity. "Which one is safe? Which one is popular?"
"Yes, so you will see many tables have these colourful drinks. All of our drinks are made in house." He rambled on. "All of our drinks are safe, ma'am."

As he continued to repeat names such as "Mango Mint (Classic)", "Mint Lime (Margarita)", and "Blue Lagoon (Lemonade)", I interrupted his fast-paced narrative with a "Mint Lime! I'll take that one."
"The Mint Lime Margarita? Okay, I'll put that down." His words were jumbly and hard to decipher, as if simultaneously hurrying and attempting an anxious rap.
"And I'll put down a Blue Lagoon for you, alright?" He faced the sleepy polar bear with a businessman grin.
"Uh no, water is fine."
"Alright. And that's it?"
We nodded, just glad for him to depart. Making sense of his speech was already tragic enough in consideration of the loud atmosphere.

​Both of us took turns gliding towards the bathroom, navigating slowly balance ourselves on the slippery floors. Our meals arrived as I made my return. The steaks were delivered on a sizzling hot plate, and positioned at the very edge of our table. Of utmost concern to me in the moment was making it back to my seat in one piece without slipping and grabbing - or worse, falling - onto the hot plates in a dire attempt to steady myself.
The potential for third-degree burns was tremendous, constituting the most severe of safety hazard witnessed thus far in a restaurant setting.

​Sauces and veggies were served atop a Masterchef cutting board with dilapidated edges, while the meat and carbs came on a separate ceramic serving plate. A total of four weighty contraptions rested on our shaky table, leaving little to no room for placement of drink glasses.

The Mint Lime Margarita arrived shortly afterwards, following my quick reminder. It was sweet, barely icy, and even a tad salty - similar to electrolyte-filled drinks like Gatorade or Pocari Sweat. That said, neither of us found it particularly enjoyable.
​Only one of two water glasses arrived: the cold water was promptly forgotten and never received. We didn't bother reminding the server though, for our focus had shifted towards the steaks before us. It was of imminent importance to devise methods of sharing the meat without accidentally scorching ourselves.

​Unveiling our utensils, I spotted a "thinkkitchen" logo on the knife. Consistent had been management's prioritization of economic servingware; while Masterchef is my Canadian Tire go-to for cheap appliances and tools, thinkkitchen is the budget buyer standard from outlet mall varities.

​The Tenderloin assumed an 8 oz. portion ideal for my appetite. Its edges had been cooked to a pink Medium, while its centre a textbook-perfect Medium Rare. Tenderness was experienced throughout the entire cut. A sprig of rosemary resided beside the mound, boasting a waft of herbiness. The Rojo, Lemon Aioli, and Rojo Mayo sauces smeared on the side of the cutting board were sampled briefly, but ultimately determined as unwarranted. The steak had undergone sufficient seasoning, and "dipping steak in mayo" (as the sleepy polar bear had concluded) simply didn't feel right. Personally, I was least fond of the Rojo, which was unnecessarily fiery.
In contrast to the Medium/Medium-Rare profile of my Tenderloin, the Ribeye was, frankly, quite rare. The sleepy polar bear opted to continue cooking slices of the meat on the hot plate, then chewing patiently to sever tendons and digest dry edges.

We agreed on the crispy fries being the winner of the sides. Excessively oily were the grilled veggies, while excessively saucy the Caesar greens. The mashed potatoes were passable, if skipping the thin, congealed potion of murky, supposed gravy.

​The overall experience failed to align with our impressions of a steakhouse, regardless of food quality, price, setting, or service. The Tenderloin and Ribeye set us back $48 and $42 respectively, while the Mint Lime Margarita rang in at $5. Justified these prices were not on the enjoyment-to-price meter.
Service was exceptionally quick and quite amicable, as far as the waitresses' responses. The washrooms were maintained to a minimal degree, with paper towels strewn about the floor and griminess about the sink.

​While en route, the two of us had reached a consensus on dessert: Whatever odd specimen on the menu would be disregarded in favour of soft serve from Nani's Gelato.

A swirled Vanilla Bean and Dark Chocolate Soft Serve was obtained with glee, then promptly devoured outside. Droplets had ceased for the evening and mercury levels lowered.

Decadent was the Dark Chocolate and fragrantly creamy was the Vanilla Bean. The duo was crowned the star of the evening, fusing the buttery consistency of soft serve with the rich, refined qualities of 90% Dark Lindt chocolate. The cone served to pay homage to both of our childhood favourites: McDonald's Vanilla Cone for the sleepy polar bear and Costco's lofty, once-scrumptious twist for me.

It seemed only fitting to finish a meal of teetering seasonings (ahem, msg!) with chocolate for dessert.