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December 18, 2006
Al's Steak House - My Rebuttal
At some point in the last few months, the Washington Post ran a story about Al’s Steak House, a small restaurant located in Alexandria, Virginia.
As I read that story on my evening commute home – remember, I take the Metro to and from work; I’m not one of these idiots who tries to read newspaper articles or novels while driving – my mouth started watering with so much temptation and lust that I was certain I was breaking at least two of the Ten Commandments.
The author had crafted such a wonderful piece.
In fact, it’s hard to imagine anyone performing better written fellatio on a restaurant. By the end of the review, if Al’s Steak House didn’t have the most powerful orgasm that it’s ever had, well, I don’t think even a bottle of Cialis and the Director’s Cut of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show could help.
As I absorbed each line of text, my mind instinctively jumped into the time machine known as my memory and quickly conjured up images of the wonderful cheestesteaks I used to enjoy at least twice a week in college.
When I realized that it had been nearly five years since I ventured to the nation’s capital, all I could think was, “Wow! I haven’t had a great cheesesteak in half a decade!”
Needless to say, for the next few days, Al’s occupied my mind like a powerful new crush.
As with most things we lust after in life, time had a way of reducing my longings for Al’s.
Then, last week, out of the blue, that Washington Post article crept into my thoughts.
Initially, I wondered if I’d even be able to figure out the name of the restaurant. All I could remember from the newspaper article was that the author seemed like, given the chance, he’d go down on Al’s faster than Miss USA Tara Conner would on a New York City drug dealer who promised her an 8-ball of cocaine. (Sometimes it’s good to be a drug dealer. Attention drug dealers in Kentucky, get ready – it looks like she’s coming home.)
Much to my surprise, I was able to pin down the restaurant’s name on my first search.
Al’s Steak House.
Short.
Sweet.
Simple.
I couldn’t wait.
I glanced at Al’s menu online and knew right away that I’d be devouring the medium Steak and American Cheese. Over the summer, I had sampled the fare at Gino’s – the famous Philadelphia landmark – and came away with the same feeling that Ogre had after trying one of the Nerds’ pies. “It was good, but it wasn’t great.” And Betty Childs was certainly nowhere to be found in Philly.
Somehow, I knew Al’s would be better even if Gino’s had the name.
After all, the website included the kind of genuine testimonial that you’d quickly offer up for your favorite, childhood restaurant, which you still frequent whenever you get the chance. “I personally remember taking my lunch money and sneaking down to Al’s during break from a local high school. Once you try one for yourself, you will agree that it is the best there is.”
While my lust was at the front and center of my brain, I figured I needed to act.
Expecting to be turned down, I sheepishly asked Coworkers #1 and #2 if they’d be interested in venturing outside the District for lunch that day.
Much to my surprise, they quickly agreed. I guess when the boss is away, the mice really do play.
Coworker #2, the resident expert on all things that are Alexandria, knew exactly how to get us to Al’s as quickly as possible.
As we entered the restaurant, I glanced to my left and then to my right.
For a moment, I figured I knew what it felt like to date an Asian man. “It’s a lot smaller than I expected,” I thought.
But I wanted to see how Al’s would use what it had before passing judgment.
After all, I figured. If life has taught me anything, it’s that usually the dumps offer the best grub.
And then again, sometimes not so much.
Sigh.
I took one bite of my cheesesteak and immediately thought back to the newspaper article and how it lamented the fact that places like Al’s don’t seem to exist anymore.
Well, I can tell you why these types of places don’t exist.
They don’t exist because your mouth goes in anticipating a superb sensation, and instead comes away feeling like it just performed oral sex on a cracked out, herpes-infested, chlamydia-spreading, needle-sharing transvestite whore.
This wasn’t an example of having expectations that couldn’t be matched. I can manage my expectations when it comes to food, especially the greasy kind.
No, this was an example of pure dupery.
I felt like I had been the recipient of one of those Nigerian letter scams and somehow had fallen for it.
“Wake me up,” I thought. “I didn’t just do this.”
The cheesesteak at Al’s was so flavorless – even with onions – that I wondered if Al’s had ever spent a penny of profit on a single spice, including salt and pepper.
The fries, which should have been wonderful at a place like this, were more lacking in quality than Coworker #3’s work ethic. (More on her later in the week.)
The sign on the wall that explained whom to see in the restaurant if you wanted to establish a credit account with Al’s left me completely perplexed. Wanting to have credit at Al’s would be like wanting to have a one-night stand with Glenn Close after Fatal Attraction.
I guess the experience wasn’t completely bad.
I know that if I ever need to use a bathroom, Al’s is not the place to go. There is no public restroom. Tough luck if you actually like washing your hands.
There also isn’t a pawn shop nearby. I know this because as soon as we left Al’s, I felt so depressed that I wanted to buy a gun and blow my brains out. Walking through the neighborhood will also leave you feeling that way.
As we returned to the office, many who knew about our plans asked us how our outing had gone.
“Awful,” I replied.
“Awful?” they’d ask.
“Awful,” I’d repeat.
“Really?” they’d retort, wondering how such a surefire thing could turn out to be anything but.
“Put it this way,” I said. “If my employer sent me to Tehran for a couple weeks and some of the nut-jobs over there took me hostage and started torturing me every day for three years, if you came to visit me and said, ‘Fool, I’ve got great news. The American government has arranged for your release, but only if you agree to eat one more meal at Al’s Steak House in Alexandria, Virginia. As long as you agree to do that, just one meal, you can come home for good.’”, I’d look at you and say, “I’ll take my chances in Iran, thank you.”
Different strokes for different folks, I guess.
I know Al’s is the land of milk and honey for some, (and the employees seemed like genuinely nice human beings). For me, however, I left feeling depressed, dejected, and duped.
If Al’s is the best the area has to offer, it’s going to be a long time before I have another cheesesteak.
I’ll stick to letting the Washington Post reviewer put Al’s meat in his mouth.
Comments
This is why Philadelphia is a better food city overall (although my Silver Spring born-and-raised ex swears by Jerry's Subs and Pizza - poor guy).
Also, there are lowered expectatios around here. 'Cause of the dirt and copious amounts of cheez whiz.
Posted by: meg at December 18, 2006 05:51 AM
I mean really, did you honestly believe that you were going to get a Cheesesteak approaching Philadelphia quality in a southern city? I find it is better just to give up all hope on finding decent regional fare in a non-regional city, and just be pleasantly suprised when you find something decent.
Eg. 1 - The quest for a decent Bagel and Lox in DC. There is one place in this city where you can get a decent Bagel and Lox (and a nice piece of smoked whitefish or chubby). K's deli (formerly Krupin's) on Wisconsin. I say "decent" not good. To find good lox and good whitefish you need to ttravel to Kaplan's in Baltimore. But even Kaplan's is a pale imitation of a decent New York deli. Bagels should be hard on the outside, but not rock hard, a consistency similar to soft leather surrounding a doughy center. It should be chewy but not tough, and it should come in one of 2 flavors: egg and plain. Everything else is a Gentile pervesion of the Jews greatest contribution to cuisine. I weep daily that I live in rural Maryland where I am forced to confine my Bagel consumption to (the craptastic) Einstein bagel.
Eg 2 - On the flip side I have never had a decent crab outside the state of Maryland. Blue crab needs to be steamed (not boiled, as they do in states like North Carolina) with a layer of seasoning on top. They should not be eaten with butter, but rather with a small bowl of vinegar, hot sauce and crab seasoning. TO be honest you really need to go to Southern Maryland (south of and including Annapolis) if you want it done right. I myself didn't have a decent crab until I started dating my fiancee, whose father is such a connoisseur that he can identify the tributarty of the Chesapeake a crab was fished out of solely by the taste.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you need to focus on what is good here, instead of trying to recreate a cuisine that is native to another part of the country.
BTW... If you want good (not as good as homemade, but still awesome) crabs, served Southern Maryland style, I reccomend:
Robertson's Crab House
11455 Popes Creek Road
Popes Creek, MD 20664
About an hour outside DC, and well worth the drive (get the hush puppies, they are unbelievable). Remember to order vinegar, hot sauce on the side. They will think you are a local.
Posted by: over_educated at December 18, 2006 08:01 AM
The best cheesesteak I've ever had was thousands of miles west of Philly. Thus, I won't give up on regional fare in non-regional locations!
As for good crabs, I'd rather eat at Al's than eat crabs, but thank you for your recommendation.
Posted by: Fool at December 18, 2006 08:59 AM
that'll teach you to not eat meat, TF. :P
Posted by: LM at December 18, 2006 12:50 PM
That sucks! I HATE being disappointed in that way. Its always the same thing, a person (or article in your case, which is even better so you don't have someone you can yell at) tells you to try the greatest thing ever, and you build it up and cannot wait to try it, and then....utter let down.
:(
Posted by: First Year at December 18, 2006 01:10 PM
"I figured I knew what it felt like to date an Asian man. “It’s a lot smaller than I expected,”"
Thank you fool. I could care less about the treif you are discussing, but I am always interested in asian men.
Posted by: pretty at December 18, 2006 01:49 PM
over_educated: I know a little bit about bagels (born and raised in the NY/NJ area) and the best bagels in DC are at Georgetown bagelry. The best, bar none. I can't vouch for the lox (blech) but the bagels are top-notch.
Posted by: meg at December 18, 2006 11:15 PM
Meg: K's gets its bagels from the Georgetown Bagelry. I really was speaking of the Jewish Deli as a whole, of which bagels are an important part. But in reality, any Bubby will tell you that the stature of a deli is inseperable from the quality of it's whitefish (and lox).
Posted by: over_educated at December 19, 2006 07:34 AM
That asian man comment was priceless. Original?
Posted by: M at December 19, 2006 05:10 PM
M,
Was the comment original? Yes in two ways and no (in at least one way). First, I've never seen an Asian tallywhacker, so I was using my imagination. Second, I had never seen that line written before. But it certainly wasn't original because I am not the first person to crack a joke about an Asian man's pecker!
TF
Posted by: Fool at December 20, 2006 02:05 AM
That's certainly true, as I do it all the time (usually by quoting the South Park "Chinpokomon" episode.)
I should probably stop when I move to Japan, though. They might get offended and not show me.
Posted by: Meg at December 22, 2006 07:43 AM
I should probably stop when I move to Japan, though. They might get offended and not show me.
And this would be a bad thing?
Posted by: Fool at December 22, 2006 11:58 AM
Think of the stories you would read, though! :)
Posted by: Meg at December 22, 2006 07:55 PM
