The Main Course, Part 1

Meat, Meat, and More Meat: Beef is "What's for Dinner" for Many Supper Club Diners

My father always said that Fondas can cry at a good steak.

- Jane Fonda

Photo by Doğu Tuncer on Unsplash

“It’s a PENIS festival!”

Ann shouted this loudly so that everyone at our table – not to mention tables within a 50 mile radius – could hear. We were dining at a supper club in Galena. Galena is a historic little town in Illinois that was once the home of Ulysses and Julia Grant. The Grants were a fascinating couple. Ulysses saved the Union during the Civil War and was the eighteenth president of the United States. Julia was cross-eyed and claimed to have psychic abilities.

Is it wrong that I find Julia to be the more fascinating of the two?

Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash

Ulysses S. Grant, savior of the Union; not a psychic

Don’t answer that. Galena is a lovely town with quaint brick storefronts and mid-nineteenth century homes that draw tens of thousands of tourists every year. Most come from the Chicago burbs. They are people who briefly want to exchange the hustle and bustle of the city for the hustle and bustle of a tourist town. Seriously, achieving nuclear fusion is easier than finding parking in Galena on a sunny Saturday in July. I’ve tried.

But I digress.

Galena is also home to one of the classier supper clubs in the area. How do you know if a supper club is classy? Check the table. Most of the establishments that the Supper Club Supper Club – aka the SCSC - frequent feature tables topped with vinyl-easy-to-wipe table cloths and paper placemats that double as advertising broadsheets. Real candles are rare and the flower arrangements on the tables are undoubtedly plastic.

This particular supper club, however, had crisp, white tablecloths and actual placemats. Candlelight danced off the polished paneled walls and the tables were more than a few feet apart giving diners the illusion of privacy.

Unless the SCSC is nearby and talking about penises, that is.

On this particular outing – a snowy evening in December, if I recall - Ann and I were regaling the Lovable Assholes with stories of a recent academic panel we had attended. The panel focused on the Kanamara Matsuri Festival in Kawasaki, Japan. The festival celebrates the legend of a local woman who had a penis-eating demon living in her vagina. This proved to be a painful problem for her and especially for her husband. In despair, the woman turned to a blacksmith who crafted a penis out of steel. When the demon tried to eat it, its teeth were broken, and so was the curse.

Let me pause for a moment and say that this is one of the most amazing pieces of folklore I have ever encountered. Seriously. It’s like the authors of American legends aren’t even trying. Sure, we have Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Japan, on the other hand, has a homicidal vagina.

Advantage: Japan.

Today, the city commemorates its victory over that vagina with an annual penis festival. There’s a parade with penis-themed floats and vendors who sell penis-pops and giant wooden penises that festival goers can ride.

It’s all done in very good taste. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it’s not done in good taste. It’s a penis festival, after all.

It was also something that Ann and I found hilarious. We found it to be so hilarious, in fact, that we began looking for photos from the festival on our phones. We then passed our phones around so that everyone could share in the joy.

Which is where we got into a little trouble. The phone – complete with a photo of a woman deep-throating a penis pop – had just gotten to Thomas - not to be confused with SCSC regular Tom - when the waitress arrived.

A bit of explanation is needed. Thomas was a semi-regular member of the Lovable Assholes. His job did not allow him to regularly attend SCSC meetings. It was only dumb luck – or his lack of it – that led him to be in that supper club on that night sitting in that chair and looking at that photograph of a penis.

“Can I get you a drink, Sir?” the waitress asked as she stood behind him. She couldn’t have helped but see the photo that was displayed on the phone in his hand.

Did I mention that Thomas is easily embarrassed?

He dropped the phone as if it had given him an electrical shock and then nodded furiously at the waitress.

“Water will be fine,” he whispered.

The rest of us exploded in laughter that was loud enough to draw renewed stares from some of the other diners. In the candlelight, we could see that Thomas’ face had turned a shade of red that could have rivaled the shade of Santa’s suit.

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It’s a funny story (well, we thought it was funny), but what does it have to do with supper clubs? I’m getting to that. You see, another reason why Thomas did not often attend our SCSC outings is because he is a vegetarian.

Supper clubs are wonderful places known for good food and strong drinks. They are not, however, known for their extensive meatless options. Even the relish trays and/or salad bars are meat forward with the bacon bits, braunschweiger spread, and tuna salad.

It only gets worse when you get to the entrees. Most supper club menus consist of three food groups: 1. Beef; 2. Chicken; and 3. Seafood/Fish. There may be a vegetarian item thrown in here or there – a pasta primavera, for example – but they are merely window dressing. Trust me. If you are at a traditional supper club, something died for your meal. You can take that to the bank.

Let’s begin with the Category No. 1: Beef. Most of the nation’s remaining supper clubs are in the Midwest, a region that has a lot of cows. According to the Iowa Beef Industry Council, the Hawkeye state has 3.5 million cows, most of which (~825,000) that are slaughtered for beef. To put those numbers into perspective, Iowa has a total human population of 3.25 million meaning that should the cows ever stage a revolt their chances of success are better than even.

Don’t laugh. According to Discovery.com cows kill 22 Americans every year. Sharks, on the other hand, kill just 5. That means that we don’t just eat cows because they are delicious. We do it out of self-defense.

But they are delicious. At your typical supper club, beef comes in a number of forms almost all of which are steak. That includes tenderloins, rib-eyes, prime rib and T-bones. Of course you could also get a hamburger, but why? When you’re at the Louvre, would you ask to see a drawing made by the curator’s 7-year-old son? I didn’t think so.

No, when you are supper clubbing, the name of the game is steak. Even Fran Leibowitz gets it. An author and activist, Leibowitz once said, “My favorite animal is steak.”

Me, too, Fran. Me, too.

My go-to is the tenderloin. It’s simply a perfect cut of meat with little fat, and, if it’s cooked correctly – and supper clubs always cook it correctly – it’s as tender as butter.

Most supper clubs offer you the option of topping your steak with grilled onions and mushrooms. I am not a fan of either, however. Instead, I opt for – gasp! – steak sauce.

I know that in some circles the idea of drowning a good steak in sauce is sacrilege. Those in the toniest of restaurants on the East Coast would probably call for my execution if I even whispered the words “steak sauce.”

To them, I say in the best tradition of Blanche from The Golden Girls, “Eat dirt and die, Trash.”

When we speak of “steak sauce,” what we are really talking about is A1. According to the website Mashed, A1 Steak Sauce was invented by Henderson William Brand, a personal chef for King George IV. He began marketing the sauce to the general public in 1862 at the International Exhibition in London. Initially sold as Brand’s International Sauce, it later became known as “A1” due to its superior flavor.

Let me take a moment to emphasize the words “superior flavor.” Take that steak sauce haters.

If you order A1 with your steak at a supper club, your waitress won’t bat an eye. There’s no judgment in supper club circles.

Unless you tell her that you’re a vegetarian. Even supper clubs have some limits.