It may very well be that Philadelphia, suddenly tending a herd of lavish new chophouses, is undergoing a delusional fit of PBE (Prime Beef Escapism), the carnivore's equivalent of burying his head and corporate expense account in the sand with a steak knife.
From a pure trencherman's point of view, I can appreciate. Prime beef, a rarely seen luxury in most restaurants during this decade's more solvent days, is seemingly on everyone's menu now that Armageddon is on the horizon. And I've savored more than my share of those well-aged mastodon chops over the last few months, so my taste buds have adjusted suitably. The buds expect the good life every time I stick my fork into a big-ticket entree.
But it didn't happen nearly enough during my three meals at Del Frisco's, despite one of the showiest new restaurant settings in a while. The jaw-dropping former bank space, with its soaring columns, vaulted private rooms, and monumental glass wine tower, couldn't mask its unsavory flaws, a triple combo of mediocre cooking, irritating service, and offensive markups on an otherwise spectacular new cellar.
For $64.95, you can sample an unusual bone-in filet mignon that's one of the restaurant's signature cuts. But ours was underwhelming, a smallish, tapering piece of meat threaded with a sinewy ribbon of silverskin. It had better than average flavor, but not that much more. Overall, I preferred the smaller, traditional 6-ounce filet that came with the "business lunch" special, not a bad three-course deal for $30.
