This month’s restaurant fact: The overall quality of a city’s dining scene is directly correlated with the number of restaurants with staff wielding table crumbers.
We were reminded of this certitude as our server deftly swept crumbs from the starchy linen, moving properly from the right to keep her elbow out of our faces. It was a nice touch, one of many at Morton’s, which recently relocated to Lumière Place.
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The restaurant’s name is iconic: After all, Morton’s peddles beef in dozens of cities. If you’ve perused an in-flight magazine, you’ve probably seen the ads. The décor at the new downtown location is luxurious, typical of the Morton’s brand: plush seats, lots of dark wood, carpeted floors, and ceilings designed to tamp noise to a genteel murmur. Large black-and-white photos of St. Louis scenes are particularly attractive. Tableware sparkles. All of it says, “You’re here to enjoy, and we’re here to make that happen.”
The ceremonial presentation of the protein platter displays the quality to be anticipated. We viewed a porterhouse of the dimensions of a manhole cover, a filet thick as a sofa cushion, a bone-in ribeye so opulently veined with fat that it looked like Venetian marble. It was tempting to say, “Just fire ’em all up, medium rare.” We instead settled more modestly but still managed to work our way through a lot of steer. Every bite was a reminder of how good fine beef can be when expertly prepared.
That bone-in ribeye? Flawless, with a rosy center, a tantalizing aroma of smoke, a delicate char. If you’re unsure what to order, go with this one. The 10-ounce filet mignon defines the tender muscle that renders the cut so special. It was paired with a shank bone packed with luscious marrow. And there are still more exorbitant cuts—the imposing porterhouse, a New York strip—no matter your preference, it’s likely available. There’s even a Cajun-spiced ribeye that combines meat and the fragrant dimension of Louisiana seasoning.
Visiting a steakhouse and ordering something besides beef seems like going to Mardi Gras for a meditational retreat. Still, pork fans will find happiness in double-cut proportions. A meaty, juicy chop is wrapped around two bones. Fork tender it isn’t, nor should it be. The texture has a pleasant solidity, the surface a salty, delectable crust.
A scattering of seafood dishes—miso-marinated sea bass, glazed salmon—might divert some diners. A fine pasta dish—a pillow of capellini strings ringed with curls of roasted shrimp—demonstrates kitchen talent not normally associated with a steakhouse.
A curling stone–size brioche—eggy, yeasty, redolent of the roasted onion flakes on top—comes with a squirt of warm butter. Salads are fresh and don’t distract from the main event. (Let’s face it: Salads are at best a warmup act at a steakhouse. Who remembers the opener for The Beatles, in ’64 or at any other time?) A lobster bisque is spicy and satiny.
You know the sides: roasted Brussels sprouts, creamed spinach, a cheesy potatoes gratin. Do try the mac and cheese, corkscrews of cavatappi laden with liquid cheddar and mixed with what must be chunks of an entire lobster.
“Upgrades” are mostly an array of flavored butters to decorate steaks: blue cheese, roasted poblano, black truffle. If there just aren’t enough calories on your plate, liven things up with seared foie gras, asparagus spackled with béarnaise sauce, or (and this is your passport to Decadenceville) a classic Oscar presentation that pairs your steak with asparagus, lump crab, and enough hollandaise sauce to give your cardiologist palpitations.
Only the extraordinary Gerard’s in Des Peres could match the book-length wine list. It’s overwhelming. Prices tend toward the expense-account stratosphere, but there are some decently affordable reds. Cocktails are cool and smooth and steakhouse-priced.
Desserts are the expected. It’s wise to order soufflés early, because they require some time. You won’t be disappointed in a fudgy hot chocolate cake that spills its silky dark liquid center beneath the fork.
A primary challenge for any eatery situated inside a casino is blocking the noise and smells of the gaming areas, but Morton’s prevails.
Formal dining is always a treat. Morton’s succeeds, with nary a crumb left on the table.
