Good Food, Good Service, Goodfellas

          Immediately upon seeing the sign for Steak 38, I thought, “This can’t be right.” The sign stood on the edge of the Route 38 highway, its height level with the Hillside Motel that resides behind it. For one thing, the sign advertised a restaurant that seemed nowhere to be found, and when I pulled into the parking lot that housed the sign, I felt slightly uneasy. The beige, neglected building appeared to be empty, until I saw a lone patron scurry across the parking lot towards her room. As I drove underneath the carport that connected the lobby to the lodgings, my intention was to loop around and get right back on to the highway. In the process of retreating, a back screen door caught my attention, and upon further investigation, discovered it was indeed the backdoor to a kitchen.
          The recommendations and praise of Steak 38 were always given to me in hushed tones during conversations with close friends. The information was passed down like a family secret. It was advice that when received, an unspoken agreement was made that you would keep it in the circle. After seeing the backdoor, my apprehension transformed to intrigue and I decided to stay and explore this well kept secret for myself.
          After strolling around the building, I found the entrance which coincides with the Hillside Motel lobby. The inside of the restaurant was dimly lit. Strings of lights that outlined mirrors set up behind the bar and along some of the walls in the dining area emitted a muted glow that took the eyes several seconds to adjust to. The restaurant could easily be mistaken for a theme restaurant featuring Italian mobsters. But don’t be fooled. I learned after dining there, that this restaurant is the real deal with good food, good service, and yes, goodfellas.
          Once inside, I couldn’t tell if it was two in the afternoon or two in the morning. There was a group of men seated in the corner of one of the dining rooms. Italian gold chains dripped from their necks and rested in thick black hair that sprouted out from their shirts. They laughed and talked very loud, made cursing an art form, and knew everyone that worked there. In fact, after being seated in the same dining room as they were in, I noticed every guest in the restaurant knew the staff and in turn, the staff knew them. As I was given a menu from my server, Marty, I overheard another server tell a short, stout, dark haired man across the room to send the guest’s wife his love. A young, muscular man behind me was asking his waiter how the kids were doing. It was almost as though I walked in on a private dinner, but even though I was clearly the new guest, I was still treated like “family” from the other guests as well as the servers.
          It apparently was obvious to the other diners that I was new, and I was given suggestions on what to order based on their favorite dishes. The menu offered a reasonable selection, but held true to the restaurant’s name and did not offer anything more than a salad for vegetarians. The choice of steaks contained NY sirloin, Filet Mignon, Porterhouse, and a very impressive 24 oz. Ribeye. Pasta choices included clams and spaghetti, Chicken Primavera, and Fettuccini Alfredo. The menu also had swordfish, tuna steak, and lobster. I ordered crab filled mushrooms for an appetizer and one of the restaurant specialties, Steak Royale, for dinner. Marty took the order, and another server, Joe, served me rich flavored coffee and presented me with a warm dish of roasted peppers in oil and bread to pick at while I waited. As I nibbled on the peppers and bread, I began to think that I could have easily made a meal just out of that, but Marty soon arrived with the crab stuffed mushrooms and the peppers were quickly forgotten about.
          Four to a plate, the mushrooms were barely visible underneath all the lumps of crab that were piled on top of them, nestled in a creamy white sauce and lightly seasoned with paprika sprinkled on top. As I bit into one, the combination of mushroom and crab seemed to dance in my mouth. Bits of red pepper that were buried underneath the crab joined with the paprika to create the music that accompanied the dance. I closed my eyes, and smiled at the feeling. Familiar with this guest experience, Joe took the opportunity to exchange my ashtray for a clean one while my eyes were shut. When I saw the shiny clean ashtray in replace of the dirty one, it occurred to me that I was never asked if I preferred a smoking or non-smoking section of the restaurant. I asked Joe about this and it turns out the entire restaurant is smoking, and they keep things clean by having a two butt maximum in the ashtrays. This may be bad news for many, but for smokers such as myself, this was quickly becoming paradise.
          When all that was left of the appetizer was a small smear of white sauce on the little silver tray it arrived in, Joe removed the plate and Marty replaced it with my main course. The Steak Royale is an 8 oz. Filet mignon accompanied by a twice baked potato. The steak was outlined in a brown demi-glace, and on top sat another heaping of lump crab meat in the white cream sauce. Cutting into the steak revealed a wonderful red center that was cooked to perfect medium-rare. When I placed the first piece into my mouth, I was taken a bit by surprise however to taste a slight charcoal flavor. A better description of the dish on the menu would have corrected this, especially since I am not a big charcoal grilling fan, but nonetheless, it was still a very tasty meal.
          Before I was able to ask for the dessert menu, a tray was rolled out and I was told that the manager would like to give me dessert on the house. I think my notebook sitting on the table may have given the staff the wrong impression, but I accepted graciously. With a big smile, Marty began to prepare Bananas Foster at my tableside. He poured the rum and banana liquor like a pro, and I soon learned that he was a former bartender before he became a server. As the flames blazed in the pan, the other guests and I enjoyed the show. I laughed with the group of men that were still sitting in the corner as they poked fun at Marty and his “big banana” and smiled with them while they exclaimed “Una bella mangiata!” I talked with the man behind me who told me he always orders the Bananas Foster every time he comes here which turns out to be about once a week. Marty placed the dessert in a glass bowl, and placed it in front of me. I dug into the vanilla ice cream covered in a fusion of brown sugar, butter, rum, and liquor. As the sweet combination of the creamy vanilla ice cream and the brown sugar mixture tickled my taste buds, I understood the secrecy of this restaurant. It was for the “goodfellas”. It was real food like steak, no fancy light “veggie” meals. It was a smoke where you want joint, not for those waving at the slightest puff of smoke that floats by. It’s a real man, smoke and eat meat, kind of place that focuses on why you go out to eat in the first place: real, great food, really great service, and really great people.
For the total experience the bill came to about $95.00 for me and a guest I had brought along. This at first seemed a bit steep, but for the quality and amount of food, it was actually an average price. All in all, the total experience certainly was “una bella mangiata.”