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Swill and Loathing at Ruth's Chris - Woodland Hills

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Swill and Loathing at Ruth's Chris - Woodland Hills

WLA | Jul 4, 2004 05:00 AM

A few day's ago my brother in law called and asked me if my wife and I would like to join him and my sister to celebrate their anniversary with three other couples at Ruth's Chris in Woodland Hills on Saturday night.

I had been wanting to try this new branch of Ruth's Chris, but without some reason to drive from West LA to the Valley I knew that that would be unlikely, so with this as the spur I said yes.

We had 7:30 reservations, and they took us right on time. The service was pretty good all night. My wife chose a small Caesar salad and I had the crab cakes appetizer, (the most expensive app. on the menu at $17.50. We ordered one baked potato and one serving of creamed spinach and I had the rib eye, Cajun style and my wife had the petit filet served Oscar style with crab and asparagus on top.

I had clearly understood that the filet was $10 extra,, (total of $45) but did not hear anything about the Cajun style for the rib eye being more, (which it turned out was $10 more for a total of $45 because not only did they supposedly add Cajun spices but also threw two large shrimp on top of each one sort of coiled together).

I will state now that we have been to the Beverly Hills RC at least 3 or 4 times over the years and to the SF location once. We have always had good steaks and properly cooked as ordered.

Last night I can only describe my steak as swill. Unfit for human consumption. It was tough, so tough I almost had to ask if they didn't have a sharper knife than the special steak knife they gave me to attack the steak.

On top of that it was without any type of char. It was medium rare, but was pale and completely unappetizing looking, all most like they had cooked it in one of those special sleeves in the microwave.

It was swimming, (no swimming is not a strong enough analogy...how about drowning?...sinking?....floundering?.....marinating?.....slathered?)....suffice it to say I cannot come up with a word that would be strong enough or disgusting enough to describe the state of this piece of pale, flabby and terrible piece of something being passed off as prime beef.

Dessert was nothing special, a fudge like slice of cake for me and the creme brulee for my wife. I ordered decaf with my cake. Ha, ha. The all most final insult. You might wonder why a guy who is normally asleep my 10 P.M. most nights at the latest is up typing at 1:40 A.M., and I would say it's because those cretins served my a fully caffeinated full of French press coffee.

I would like nothing more than to turn the LA health department, or maybe one of those TV investigative reporters loose on them and then bring a class action law suit for loss of sleep and being forced to eat and then relive the swill I was fed. Ah sweet dreams.

You might notice that I said that the coffee that is keeping my up all night was all most the final insult. Not quite. At the end of this night of the living swill my brother in law springs the old, "Here let me pass the check around so that each of you can figure out what you owe for dinner." At that point my blood pressure was probably up to close to the number at the bottom of the check.

I had noticed that when we had come in to the bar and gave them a $50 bottle of Tattinger rose that my sister said to my brother in law, "Didn't you tell them no gifts?" Not only did he not tell me no gifts, he also forgot those little words, "No host."

And this comes on top of Father's Day at Campanile when I clearly said to him, "This is a no host event if you all want to join us, and I then split the check with him down the middle even though they were a party of four and we were three and they had multiple alcoholic drinks and I was the only one of the three of us that had a Bloody Mary, (my wife had orange juice, as did our 15 year old son).

So I am up, fuming and typing and fuming.

Thank you for allowing me to vent my anger, purge my rage and feel somewhat of a cathartic release after a night of the living dread.

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