Black-tied waiters pulled open the frosted glass doors, releasing a rolling fog of cigar smoke into the main dining room.
As the fragrant haze thinned against the boardroom's dark mahogany walls, a long table of humans faded into view. First the suspenders. Then blue pinstripe shirts and white collars. Finally, I saw their tilted faces puffing away, cheeks flushed with the rosy hue of red meat.
Had they just cut a deal? Entertained an out-of-town client? Unveiled the big strategic plan?
Whatever the occasion, the new Morton's of Chicago Walnut Street steakhouse - now on Walnut Street - seems to really know how to pamper its VIPs. Some even get their names emblazoned over wine lockers in the lobby alongside plaques with Rendell, Rizzo, and other bigwig names you should know. The ultimate "wow" in manly indulgence.
Why was it, then, that this sense of indulgence always skipped my table when I ate at Morton's? Instead - umph! - I got rammed by the cart of cling-wrapped steaks and flailing lobsters the servers rolled around.
I understand the concept of pride in products, and Morton's marvelous prime meats are worth bragging about. But the Chariot of Chops spiel is kind of creepy.
I am grateful the show-and-tell includes bundles of asparagus, pink tomatoes, and football-sized potatoes - I'd nearly forgotten what those vegetables look like. But cramming so many tables into this swanky new dining room that even the meat cart can't get through seems to defeat the point.
And rarely is this dining room ever less than full, a remarkable phenomenon considering the restaurant transplanted from its 14-year location below Logan Circle in July.
It is, if anything, a tribute to the allure of power players and prime meat, a testament to the sort of straightforward cooking that Morton's offers unadorned. When it arrives properly prepared, it can be wonderfully satisfying.
Pristine lumps of crab dabbed with mustard mayonnaise. Big poached shrimps with horseradishy cocktail sauce. Perfect scallops wrapped in crisp bacon. Plain but supremely fresh cuts of fish with butter sauce. And, of course, those giant hunks of succulent porterhouse, a reliably juicy cut that is the specialty of the house and worth every penny of $30.95.
