Lone Star BYO

The BYO.

Mysterious meat on top of rice or noodles, red wine for the guys, white for the girls, progressively louder and incomprehensible conversation, awkward chat with random people who came along with their friends and the sly gesture of placing a coin into your friend’s wine glass gifting them an obligatory scull creates a memorable (for some) once a monthly alternative to the usual flat pre-drinks. What begins as a civilized evening worthy of the duchess’s presence quickly transitions to an evening not fit for Len Brown.

When my friend told me that he was having a BYO at Lone Star I was skeptical from the get go. I tend to associate BYO’s with Asian restaurants with meat straight from the spca that turned a blind eye to the ensuring chaos. My memory of Lone Star was a family restaurant that served giant carcasses of meat surrounded by boulders of buffalo potatoes. Was it desperate to attract a new breed of customer? Maybe they are over the hungus family birthday dinners? I was actually nervous about how their giant meals would mix with my giant serving of wine.

Wine choice at a BYO is essential. You want a wine that will enhance your meal experience and augment the flavors on offer. I arrive at Lone Star with a fine Hawke’s Bay Pinot Noir. It cost me 10.99. Gone are the days of the tasteless $6.99 bottle, sigh… I am growing up. I felt this enriching full-bodied wine would compliment the American cuisine well and because white wine to me tastes like an old ladies urinary tract infection. Pinot Noir I find is not as heavy as a merlot and a lot less earthy which is vital if a coin so happens to find its way into your glass.

We arrive at the American joint full of western paraphernalia and realise that by some miracle had booked the numbers were exactly right for once. I swear this has never happened at a BYO before. Despite this I was seated in the middle of two semi-circles. Why they arranged four circular tables together bewildered me, oblongs work so much better for shuffling round for the people who turn up late. Amateurs.

We received our menus and I am immediately impressed with the variety on offer but the simplicity of it all. It was refreshing not having to decipher through 7000 different options scattered over 20 pages and, where the only real difference is rice or noodles. The ribs immediately stand out to me; I have fond memories of the ribs. It is a graveyard stack of succulent, tender, good meat to rib ratio saucy goodness. However eating your way through this ribcage is about as glamorous as a blind hyena learning to eat a carcass for the first time.  I decide like the rest of the group to order the stir-crazy sirloin, (medium-rare) of course the 250gram option instead of the 350grams. Why I did this I will never know, maybe I panicked at the attraction of the waitress and the on the spot ordering, whatever the reason the table definitely did not let me forget my foolish uncharacteristic choice of the lighter option.

Dinner arrived at a good time as the conversation volume and laughter was increasing by the minute. I even think there was a couple of deep and meaningfuls going on already. A blunting of the wine was definitely needed to delay the dremos (emotional drunks) coming out. My thick 250gram sirloin covered in creamy mushroom sauce with a side of coleslaw and buffalo potatoes arrived. I felt like a ravenous dog waiting to eat, but was a good boy and waited for everyone else’s dishes to arrive. I politely ripped into my steak and saw that it was cooked medium, not medium rare. Unbelievable. I swear everyone always orders medium rare, so it should be a piece of meat right? Apparently not. Likely the euphoria from my delicious wine offset this and I chowed through it nonetheless.

The steak tasted like your standard restaurant steak, I ate it too fast and I was slightly intoxication to give more details about it sorry.  The mushroom sauce was delicious, it had the consistency of semen which was a good thing, and didn’t let the butter in it shine through too much. Side salads at restaurants are never exciting, they just put the ratty rocket leaves with various other shavings to balance the meal. This salad was a different story, it was tasty well dressed coleslaw (always better!) with little pine nuts amongst it. I felt like a starving chipmunk coming across nuts in winter, they were so good.

Having finished the meal in a polite 4 minutes, there was no doubt I could finish the 350gram option. However eating that entire meal and trying to polish off my wine as well would have been like flushing gelatin done a toilet. I was comfortable, I felt like I had eaten a nice meal at my parent’s house and was ready to sneak out to the party with some rocket fuel.  It definitely beat the feeling I had post-Indian BYO where the alcohol and curry seemed to react like napalm in my abdomen.

The substantial meals are enjoyed by all and helped prevent any BYO insensibilities. Unlike Asian BYO’s where the level of drunkenness rises faster than a 15 year olds penis in the morning, this was a more controlled environment with a smoother ride to the land of blurriness.  Either that or we are just more mature now, probably the former. The staff, efficient and cheery tolerated us well and even smiled when the inevitable broken glass occurred.

With the meal over, it was time to make the ataxic stumble into town. All the payments were made and like every BYO $30 was still left to pay. The best thing about Lone Star is that it is in close proximity to the good home, the ideal place to cut shapes amongst horny 40 year olds and rugby “number ones”. Lone Star is a great alternative for a BYO venue. Simple American cuisine washed down with glorious red wine provides the perfect foundation for that 3am crowded house/our place creep.

Cheers guys

Next up- The Bellagio buffet in Las Vegas!

Larry