from yelp, this is gold
I had the displeasure of going to Fred & Steve's Steakhouse two weeks ago. It was a Friday evening around 6:30 pm and the place wasn't too busy....red flag number one.
We were greeted at the door by Steve DeOssie. He's apparently and ex NFL player. He looks more like the star player on the deep fryer chicken finger bobbing team. I've seen baboon's rear-ends with a smoother complexion...but I digress..
We started off with the 14 dollar chilled "jumbo" shrimp ****tail. If you like room temp, fishy smelling medium sized shrimp, this is the app for you. The roasted black pepper ****tail sauce tasted like Hunts ketchup with coffee grounds liberally sprinkled in. I choked down one, but ended up spitting it back into my napkin and kicking it under the table. My guest took one bite and raced to the restroom.
Next up was a thimble, I mean, cup of French Onion Soup. Checking in at 8 bucks, it works out to about four bucks per ounce. Once you chiseled through the gummy layer of Velveeta, the soup had the consistency of a drunk's vomit. Not much solid in it...straight liquid. There did appear to be several slivers of onion in the brown water which I chalked up to a mistake by the "chef."
For our next "Fear Factor" challenge, we ordered the "Wedge." A 9 dollar, quarter head of cheap iceberg lettuce. Sprinkled with the kind of "bacon" bits that last 15 years in the back of your spice shelf, and accompanied by a glob of gorganzola cheese that looked like it was recycled...from another patron of this hell hole. This disaster was also kicked under the table. Too bad we weren't sitting outside or we could have killed some pigeons with this slop as well.
My guest and I then moved onto the entree...Porterhouse for two...why not, it's only 75 bucks. I asked for it medium rare. What arrived under a dingy and dented serving lid looked like the carcass of a large snapping turtle bearing the stench of a housebound obese person's fartbox. I didn't know whether to eat it, or sucker punch it and run for my life. Once I realized it did not actually have a pulse, I too kicked it under the table.
I was really craving dessert since I hadn't really digested a single thing thus far, but rather than pay six bucks for a shot of Hagen Das, I decided to stab myself in the junk with a steak knife.
