Okay, dudes and dudettes, I'm baaack. Except instead of returning to the quest of the ultimate steak money can buy to be made by oneself, it is a quest for the ultimate steak prepared by someone else.
I speak, of course, of Peter Luger.
Steakhouses bore me. I've never met one I liked. Gibby's in Montreal was awful. Queue de Cheval was a joke, almost a parody of a steakhouse. A couple I've been to in San Francisco, although famous among steakhouses, were so unremarkable I can't even remember their names.
But Peter Luger — well, it's the Mount Everest of steakhouses. And I'm going there, in March.
The trusty video camera will be along for the ride, along with a serious debit in the Mastercard balance — and maybe a can of mace for the inhabitants of the neighborhood. Full report to follow.
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