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.
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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
