Boston’s steakhouse scene is currently as hot as an order of crepes Suzette being flambeed tableside. Or a wood-fired grill beneath a prime ribeye aged for 100 days in a special meat locker. Or a tater tot doused in too much truffle oil that you couldn’t stop yourself from eating immediately, despite a server’s warning that the plate was “hot, very hot.”
There are now more than 30 local specialists in filets, New York strips, and every possible form of potato, with new additions on the way. Hawksmoor, a London export, opens in the fall. Bar 23, slated for next spring, is a spinoff of steakhouse stalwart Grill 23 in Back Bay. Both are coming to the Seaport area, steakhouse central, already home to more than a half-dozen of these concepts, including the new Maple & Ash, out of Chicago. How much steak can one town eat?
Well, a lot, it seems. Many of these places are packed night after night. The better question is: Which Boston steakhouses stand out? When a bill for two easily exceeds $300, it is one worth answering.
In order to do so, I set out on an extended crawl of Boston’s demi-glace demimonde, in search of the stars. I visited longtime standard bearers and brash new arrivals. I partook of Parker House rolls and too many martinis. I genuinely apologize to the bovine gods and ask their mercy in the next life: Make it quick, and toast me with a glass of something good.
Here is what I found.
Two years ago, Vermilion opened at Winthrop Center, a lofty downtown development encompassing offices, residences, and a steakhouse bearing the imprimatur of chef John Fraser, who once ran a Michelin-starred vegetarian restaurant in New York, among others. The menu has some fun twists (French onion dumplings, mushroom carpaccio). There is a serious bar program, thanks to beverage director Amy Racine. There are some very good deals, like an express lunch (two courses for $35, three for $45) and a happy hour menu. There is also an Industry Table for two, reserved for guests who work in hospitality, with food served at cost; it’s a nice move, and presumably a smart one, in terms of viral marketing. Before visiting, I’m hoping this will be a fun spot to recommend, a bit of a find with great food and drink, flying a little under the steakhouse radar.
So far under that I’m at Vermilion, trying to find Vermilion. I’m standing beneath the striking red Chihuly sculpture for which the restaurant is named, so I know I’m in the general vicinity. But I’m on a narrow balcony, overlooking dead floorspace below. Is this the right bar? I heard the happy hour scene gets wild, but it feels like I’m drinking in an airport. The crowd is sparse. The bartenders wear ill-fitting burgundy vests and horse around amongst themselves. The bar needs wiping; there’s an open bottle with the cap beside it on the counter that never gets replaced during the time I sit here drinking a quite decent Vermilion Dirty Martini. “Hold on, I’ll be back with your garnish,” the bartender says, then returns with a cold glass jar containing a few rimy olives. I plop them in, then realize I don’t have a toothpick to recover them with. A serious bar program only gets you so far, without serious execution.
It’s dinner time, anyway. The steakhouse proper is wedged on another stretch of balcony. We sit in a cozy booth that feels like a train car. There isn’t room for anything else. This building design does not lend itself to a grand steakhouse vibe. What could work here? Maybe an Italian terrazzo, with lots of plants? It’s not an ideal layout for any restaurant, and then below us, that giant empty stretch of floor.
There’s a professional kitchen somewhere, though. The dumplings with Gruyere in shiitake consomme (poured tableside from a little metal teapot) do conjure French onion soup, and there’s impeccable knifework in the prep: Kudos to the master of brunoise back there. Jonah crab tagliatelle is an excellent starter, with plenty of crab and a little heat from cherry bomb peppers. A 16-ounce prime bone-in ribeye ($104) is nicely cooked, but it’s the 12-ounce spice-crusted prime rib ($62), pink, tender, juicy, that wins our hearts. Our server sets our baked Alaska alight at the table, and then we go home. I can recommend the food, but it deserves a less awkward space and a more engaging front-of-house staff.
I find both at The Zebra Room, kitted out for the luxury colonist, down to the massive taxidermized zebra head on the wall. It’s a steak speakeasy of sorts, located within the restaurant Yvonne’s. There are coffered mirrored ceilings, curved red chairs, framed artworks on crimson walls, waiters in white jackets, and the most beautiful steak knives I’ve ever seen, with jet- and ivory-checked handles. If I can’t get a Caesar tossed tableside and a baked Alaska here, something is wrong.
I can’t. The Caesar arrives plated; although Yvonne’s lists baked Alaska on its menu, The Zebra Room does not. I can, however, get Gruyere popovers that seem to have no Gruyere aside from a few scorched shreds on top, a 12-ounce Wagyu New York strip ($135) that’s nice and pink inside but charred and gritty outside, and a “baked potato flattie,” a leaden gratin greasy with cheese that at least looks cool with its crown of shoestring fries. I appreciate the inclusion of lobster Savannah on the menu, a tribute to classic Boston restaurant Locke-Ober, long at this address. A giant carapace is stuffed with nicely cooked lobster in sherry cream sauce with buttery crumbs, but there are so many mushrooms in the mix, they start to feel like padding.
Come to The Zebra Room for a tower of very good crab-spiked deviled eggs, a dirty martini au poivre, and a tall slice of chocolate cake. But mostly for the scenery.
Nearby Bogie’s Place introduced the steakhouse speakeasy to Boston two years before Yvonne’s opened. (Enter through cocktail bar the Wig Shop.) The decor here is more subdued than The Zebra Room’s (the decor just about anywhere is more subdued) — white tablecloths, worn burgundy velvet walls — and that’s just fine. Sinatra croons in the background. My Bijou cocktail, with gin and Chartreuse, is excellent. So is the service. There’s no information on the menu about my steak’s grade, the farm it was raised on, or whether and for how long it was aged, but the 20-ounce boneless ribeye ($95) is so well prepared, it’s one of the most satisfying I’ve had in ages. On the other hand, the wedge salad, mac and cheese, creamed Brussels sprouts, and skillet cookie are middling. But I’m starting to feel like I’m on the right track.
At Rare Steakhouse, inside the Encore casino in Everett, the expansive room is done up in classy neutrals, the carpet is brown houndstooth, the bottle-stocked bar is a thing of beauty, and giant crystals emit power vortices from the countertops where they are randomly displayed. From crab cake to 18-ounce 21-day dry-aged bone-in New York strip ($90) to mac and cheese creamy with Comte, the food is very good. There are mini Maine lobster rolls on the menu, a nice touch for high-rollers in from out of town. Our server takes a torch to our baked Alaska, explaining that it contains blood orange sorbet, fig jam, and honey vanilla ice cream. Heck, I’d come back just for the sweet rolls served gratis at the beginning of the meal. The thing that leaves a bad taste is the hierarchy of service, in which staffers lower on the totem pole appear to get chewed out by higher-ups for being gracious and helpful out of turn. Time to lose $20 at roulette (do better, crystals) and get out of Dodge.
I really enjoyed The Bancroft in Burlington when it opened in 2014. I’m glad to see it holds up today, and although people are here celebrating graduations, the steakhouse has evolved nicely into a hangout for locals and regulars. I’ve got no complaints about my 16-ounce, 28-day prime aged ribeye ($68); the kitchen takes cooking temperatures seriously, and the meat arrives embedded with a tiny plaque featuring an outline of a cow skull and the words “M. RARE.” My sides — creamed spinach with a fried egg, buttery mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus that tastes of smoke and black truffle butter — are far above average. But I’m told by my companions at the bar, all regulars here, that the thing to order is the 8-ounce filet mignon ($56). Now that I look around, I notice that’s what half the people are eating. Maybe next time. This is the first place I’ve been where it seemed like a next time might come soon.
You know what I do love? Abe & Louie’s. The bar is a scene and a half, and the food isn’t quite what it used to be. But if you can’t get behind a lively, old-school room clad in heavy dark wood, mirrors, and white tablecloths at least a little bit, I’m sad for you. Each martini drinker gets her own personal ice bucket, where the portion of the drink that hasn’t made it to the glass chills waiting in a carafe. (My lightly dirty martini arrives filthy, however.) There’s crab cocktail, a large amount of sweet jumbo lump meat on a tray of ice with Dijonnaise, cocktail sauce, and a lemon wearing yellow fishnets. You can get a plate of bacon, just bacon, adorned with blue cheese and bell pepper relish, like a wedge salad that’s finally admitted the lettuce is virtue signaling. An 8-ounce ribeye cap steak ($82) is deeply flavorful and spot-on medium-rare. Order your hand-cut fries extra-crispy and watch them disappear. With dessert, a server comes around bearing a giant bowl of whipped cream, dispensing dollops to whoever wants them. While we are here, we hear the happy birthday song four separate times, once in thick Scottish accents. Visit Abe & Louie’s to feel childlike delight in adult pleasures.
In Quincy, there’s Masons Steakhouse, in a grand Masonic temple that’s been renovated grandly. The service is stellar, the confident cooking on display in the open kitchen, the martinis ice cold. The dining room is handsome and comfortable, but the best place to sit might be the bar, where skilled bartenders mix tallow-washed Old Fashioneds and gin-based Fizz & Fogs, each topped with a smoke-filled bubble customers pop before drinking. Chat with regulars who have been here three times already this week, while eating coal-roasted prawns, anchovy-strewn Caesars, and perfectly cooked bone-in ribeyes. Would you like your salad split for two, your steak sliced for you in the kitchen, some extra rolls to take home for tomorrow? Yes, please and thank you. Masons is run by Jimmy Liang and Ming Cao of JP Fuji Group, behind the Fuji sushi restaurants and more. Alongside the potato puree and creamed spinach, you’ll find sides like crispy Brussels sprouts with cilantro and chile paste, and an excellent crab fried rice.
I had never been to Mooo…. Seaport, although I’d been grumpily typing out its three o’s and four ellipses since the original opened in Beacon Hill in 2007. Much is the same at this four-year-old branch of the Columbus Hospitality Group steakhouse: the fluffy Parker House rolls that arrive at the start of the meal in a little cast-iron pan, the array of fine steaks, the baked-to-order chocolate chip cookies for dessert. But the dining room doesn’t feel as warm. When I enter, I come face to face with a staircase in an awkward hall, rather than a friendly host.
Here’s a fun thought experiment: Have one person at the table order the most expensive a la carte steak on the menu (not counting a $295 tomahawk for two, it’s 6 ounces of A5 Wagyu sirloin for $190) and the other person the least expensive (8 ounces of prime sirloin for $60) and see who gets the most attention from the server — not because of the price point, because of the steak itself (OK, maybe the price point has a little to do with it). “Isn’t it amaaaaazing,” kvells a staffer, hovering over my Wagyu-eating friend. “Have you had A5 Wagyu before? It’s so good.” He’s right to gush. This is intense, meat-flavored butter. “And how’s yours?” he asks, remembering me and smiling politely. It’s plenty good, but it’s not A5 Wagyu.
The most memorable part of the meal at Mooo…. comes at the beginning, when steak tartare arrives in a cloche filled with smoke. Our server lifts it and releases the vapors, wafting them over the meat with a practiced rotation of the wrist. The raw beef is fresh and lightly smoky, topped with jammy boiled quail eggs, mustard, and pickled onion. This dish is gorgeous. This dish is worth coming for.
But you might as well just go to Mooo…. Beacon Hill. The steak tartare is here (this time with bone marrow toast), and there’s something about the place that feels right: the vibe; the combination of finance bros bragging, intellectuals quoting literature, and disillusioned executives dissecting the day; the professionalism of servers who have made hospitality a career; the food, which seems better here than at other branches, even if that’s just the reflected sheen of the place. I drink one of the two best martinis I’ll have on this steak spree — balanced, clean but with just a whisper of olive brine, garnished with blue cheese-stuffed olives that are actually worth eating. We feast on shrimp cocktail, the signature beef wellington ($87), asparagus with its stalks neatly peeled and a pitcher of hollandaise. There’s too much truffle oil on the tater tots. There’s too much truffle oil in Boston steakhouses in general. At the end of the meal, delicious bonbons arrive with the check, a highfalutin version of Mallomars clad in dark chocolate. (PSA: You can purchase these at sister restaurant Gary’s Pizza in the South End.) Not everything is perfect, but this Mooo…. stands out.
So does Maple & Ash, in a very different way. Nothing makes an impression like a steakhouse where flames are everywhere — leaping from the wood-fired grill in the open kitchen, dancing over the crepes Suzette being flambeed tableside. Each table gets a complimentary serving of crudites. Each diner gets a complimentary vodka cocktail, shaken tableside. The message is clear: Drink up, kick back, we want you to enjoy the party. The signature here is fire-roasted seafood, served in towers; you can order it with a “pasta back,” wherein the server will come by after you’ve cleaned out the smoke-kissed claws and shells, and pour perfectly al dente cavatelli into the garlic butter that remains behind. Ricotta agnolotti are described on the menu as “pillows of love,” and the $175 four-course tasting menu is titled “I Don’t Give a F*@k Just Feed Me.”
Could all of Maple & Ash’s showmanship feel just so gimmicky? Yes. But. The staff is unfailingly warm, enthusiastic, and generous. The sommelier we speak with has worked at some of Boston’s best restaurants, and has spot-on wine recommendations. We sit beside big corporate groups, kids in party dresses, elegant couples dressed to the nines, freaks and geeks. The room is grown-up sexy, with various lairs to sink into in the lounge, and pink velvet banquettes in the dining room that are actually comfortable for people who aren’t 6-foot-tall men. And the food is excellent — from the seafood tower ($140-$300) to the little lobster rolls topped with caviar, from the 18-ounce off-menu ribeye cap ($205) our server urges us toward in a stageside whisper to the side of spiced sweet potatoes he slips us as a freebie. (I don’t love the pillows of love.) By the time we are eating scoops of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream accompanied by a three-tiered tower of hot fudge, sprinkles, fruits, and candies, our hearts have been completely, unexpectedly won. We did enjoy the party at Maple & Ash, very much.
But I know what you’ve been waiting for: the best steakhouse in Boston. The all-around winner. It’s the one you can take anyone to, from your sleaziest bachelorettes to your snootiest Brahmins, and they will be well pleased.
To no one’s surprise, it’s Grill 23 & Bar, Himmel Hospitality Group’s standard bearer since 1983.
Where can you get the coldest martini in town, so icy you can practically skate on it? Where can you find the finest wine list, winning Wine Spectator’s Grand Award year after year, with sommeliers skilled at guiding anyone through it, whether to prestige bottles, deep cuts, or good values that suit their tastes and budget? Where do you go for crab cakes, an 18-ounce prime ribeye aged for 100 days ($98) or excellent steak frites ($48), miniature carrots cooked tender in A5 Wagyu drippings with smoked honey and spices, and a towering slice of almost-too-sweet coconut cake, with multiple servers sweeping in and out? Where can you sit near the fire in the corner booth of the clubby dining room up the grand staircase beside the marble column, or elbow to elbow downstairs at the bar beside your fellow humans, possibly getting a little too jolly? This is the place.
Steakhouses adhere to a commonly accepted rubric: excellent steaks, a set roster of side dishes, a spendy wine list, attentive service, and a special setting. But it turns out steakhousing is like an Olympic sport. Its practitioners must nail every element precisely, and this is much harder than it looks. I’ve gained new respect and appreciation for the form, and for how different each steakhouse can be.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an ice-cold martini to drink.
Abe & Louie’s, 793 Boylston St., Back Bay, Boston, 617-536-6300, www.abeandlouies.com. Steaks $72-$195.
The Bancroft, 15 Third Ave., Burlington, 781-221-2100, www.the-bancroft.com. Steaks $41-$155.
Bogie’s Place, 25 Temple Place, Downtown Crossing, Boston, www.bogiesplace.com. Steaks $55-$170.
Grill 23 & Bar, 161 Berkeley St., Back Bay, Boston, 617-542-2255, www.grill23.com. Steaks $48-$170.
Maple & Ash, 131 Seaport Boulevard, Seaport, Boston, 617-362-8881, www.mapleandash.com/boston. Steaks $65-$225.
Masons Steakhouse, 1170 Hancock St., Quincy, 617-689-8818, www.masonssteakhouse.com. Steaks $56-$165.
Mooo…. Beacon Hill, 15 Beacon St., Beacon Hill, Boston, 617-670-2515, www.mooorestaurant.com. Steaks $55-$190.
Mooo…. Seaport, 49 Melcher St., Fort Point, Boston, 617-556-8000, www.mooorestaurant.com. Steaks $55-$295.
Rare Steakhouse, Encore Boston Harbor, 1 Broadway, Everett, 857-770-3300, www.encorebostonharbor.com. Steaks $75-$300.
Vermilion, 115 Federal St., Financial District, Boston, 617-546-5123, www.vermilion-club.com. Steaks $58-$218.
The Zebra Room, 4 Winter Place, Downtown Crossing, Boston, www.zebraroom.com. Steaks $60-$225.
Devra First can be reached at devra.first@globe.com. Follow her on Instagram @devra_first.