NealReview: Mancini's Char House
July 8th 2008 09:35
Sad times at Mancini's Char House
Mancini's is a well known, old school bar, and in a separate room, a “Char House,” in Saint Paul, Minnesota. It's located in a neighborhood that used to be home to the overflow of Chicago's mobsters and it's interior is proof. I had been to Mancini's as a bar a few times before. Cheap top shelf drinks, "gangster booths," and Minnesota's strangest getting funky to the Midas Touch, their house band. Back in those days, you could smoke inside, and Mancini's looked like a place that needed a foggy haze to add to it's nostalgic charm. When you're drinking and with friends, you don't need much if you're having fun, and it's definitely a fun place to escape that trendy joint you can't really afford to drink at anyways.
This was my first trip to the Char House, mostly because I'm not an elderly person who wears cotton sweatshirts as formal wear. I had heard nothing but great things about their steaks, but mostly from meat-n-potatoes macho dudes who think carrots are for wusses, yet are scared to try steak tar tar (they're surprisingly hard to avoid). Still, most should know a good steak, right? And the average review from customers online is usually four or five stars. I had high hopes.
As I walked to the table in a packed but comfortable room made of stone, there was a plate of “relish” sitting on the table, which was a pile of sliced pickles and mediocre looking beefsteak tomatoes fresh from the slice-o-matic. Next to that were four huge bowls of mystery sauces. Were these for the relish?
Then, the server came around with a basket of sliced and toasted garlic bread that was actually tasty, which turned out to accompany one of the mystery bowls filled with what turned out to be aoli. I looked at the menu and saw about six choices for steak; it was between the filet and the New York strip, at $24 and $26 respectively. I chose the strip with a baked potato over fries or mashed, and a “house salad” would come to utilize the other mystery sauces shortly.
The salad is dropped off in front of me, and I can't even remember what the actual plate it was on looked like, because I was so amazed by what I saw as part of my $26: grocery store grade bag-o-salad; thick chunks of iceberg lettuce with carrot shreds and hints of red cabbage. I've never before seen bag-o-salad in a restaurant, let alone a place with a reputation. I decided to try to choke some down to balance out the meal to come, so I reached for the 3 bowls of mystery. Upon closer inspection, it was fresh out of the Wish Bone bottle “Italian” and “French” dressing (both as unauthentic as they are putrid), and what looked like bleu cheese dressing. I reached for what looked the least horrible and poured some over my chunks of iceberg and took a bite. If Miracle Whip and Dole joined forces to make a “bleu cheese salad” for Michael Hutchence (post head injury, pre-death), this would be it; an awful, tangy dressing with little cheese and no “bleu,” over what your average college freshman would know as “lettuce.” I've been to the corniest family joints in my lifetime, for some reason or another, and they at least make an effort to have their own sauce, not just 3 bowls of Wish Bone sitting out. And what sort of Italian-owned eatery doesn't put vinegar and oil on the table? I kept looking for it, or my waitress, to no avail. I stopped after trying to chew a few pieces of the “salad” and reached for more bread as I awaited my steak.
My strip finally came out on a plain plate with a sad baked russet covered in tin foil. The steak looked fine at first, so I decided to dress my lonely potato with the sides they provided: a single serving cardboard package of sour cream, and a single rectangle of foil wrapped butter (nice touches). Just as I was about to cut into my steak, I looked at the woman next to me who ordered the side dish of steamed vegetables in lieu of potato, and I almost laughed out loud at what I saw. They actually steamed mini carrots found in the bag lunches of teenage girls and never a self respecting restaurant. At this point, I dreaded cutting into my meat.
As soon as I cut in towards one end of the strip that I ordered medium-rare, I saw that it was going to be a rough meal. Literally. After I cut a piece off with the ease of cutting suede with plastic Fiskars, I saw that this steak was overdone to medium-well. Brown and light pink, not red and bloody as I ordered it. I usually don't stand for this nonsense, but it dawned on me that the server only comes to the table to bring food which we all had. I decided to choke it down with bad memories of eating charred box steaks that came free with a new windshield in days of yore. Another problem with this overpriced hunk of wasted meat was that there wasn't a hint of seasoning. The salt was repeatedly in one hand being shaken over each individual bite of this disgrace.
The server probably didn't ask how my food was because every blue haired, hot dish eating member of the greatest generation chews everything down without causing trouble when they eat there. I however, would usually have sent the steak back, especially when paying $26 for it. So, aside from that, the server basically did her job: take the order, bring the salads, bring the steaks, and I did notice my water was never empty (thinking back, I should have drank it down to bring her attention to the brick on my plate). I didn't order any drinks, but people around me seemed to be happy with their beverages.
I would expect to pay around $14 for my meal at a place like Timber Lodge, a sad chain usually found in malls. A plate that simply comes out with a steak and a baked potato in a tin foil wrap with pre-packaged accoutrement is something you expect to see at a roadside diner, not a place charging an outrageous $26.
I consider Outback Steakhouse to be corny, lame and of mediocre quality, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Australia beyond the “found art” they throw up on their walls. But for $20, you get an attentive wait person working for tips who's job it is to accomplish a people-pleasing corporate mission statement, a 20 ounce edible porterhouse (strip loin and tenderloin) that if not cooked to your liking, will be replaced on the fly, a baked potato with anything you want out of the “loaded” options with it's jacket coated in kosher salt, and a caeser-ish salad that actually tastes good, not to mention all the freshly baked pumpernickel with whipped butter (in a DISH!) you can handle. Here's my point: Outback should be looking down at Mancini's, and for a place known for it's steaks, what does that say about the famed Char House?
If you want a steak and don't want to spend Morton's money (which isn't much more than the value-less Char House), don't think you're doing the community a favor by supporting a local restaurant that serves school lunch salads, flavorless and carelessly plated potatoes, steamed lunch snack vegetables and badly cooked, unseasoned meat...but also don't feel bad; they have plenty of returning customers who love the idea of steak yet don't know what a steak should taste like. If you want an evening out at Mancini's, eat at home first and go for what Mancini's is good for: cheap drinks, fun and nostalgic atmosphere, and it's famous people-watching.
GRADES
ATMOSPHERE B-
SERVICE C
FOOD D-
VALUE F---
OVERALL: D
Mancini's not only doesn't live up to it's hype, it chokes like a Minnesota sports team. Not the best first review...
Mancini's is a well known, old school bar, and in a separate room, a “Char House,” in Saint Paul, Minnesota. It's located in a neighborhood that used to be home to the overflow of Chicago's mobsters and it's interior is proof. I had been to Mancini's as a bar a few times before. Cheap top shelf drinks, "gangster booths," and Minnesota's strangest getting funky to the Midas Touch, their house band. Back in those days, you could smoke inside, and Mancini's looked like a place that needed a foggy haze to add to it's nostalgic charm. When you're drinking and with friends, you don't need much if you're having fun, and it's definitely a fun place to escape that trendy joint you can't really afford to drink at anyways.
This was my first trip to the Char House, mostly because I'm not an elderly person who wears cotton sweatshirts as formal wear. I had heard nothing but great things about their steaks, but mostly from meat-n-potatoes macho dudes who think carrots are for wusses, yet are scared to try steak tar tar (they're surprisingly hard to avoid). Still, most should know a good steak, right? And the average review from customers online is usually four or five stars. I had high hopes.
As I walked to the table in a packed but comfortable room made of stone, there was a plate of “relish” sitting on the table, which was a pile of sliced pickles and mediocre looking beefsteak tomatoes fresh from the slice-o-matic. Next to that were four huge bowls of mystery sauces. Were these for the relish?
Then, the server came around with a basket of sliced and toasted garlic bread that was actually tasty, which turned out to accompany one of the mystery bowls filled with what turned out to be aoli. I looked at the menu and saw about six choices for steak; it was between the filet and the New York strip, at $24 and $26 respectively. I chose the strip with a baked potato over fries or mashed, and a “house salad” would come to utilize the other mystery sauces shortly.
The salad is dropped off in front of me, and I can't even remember what the actual plate it was on looked like, because I was so amazed by what I saw as part of my $26: grocery store grade bag-o-salad; thick chunks of iceberg lettuce with carrot shreds and hints of red cabbage. I've never before seen bag-o-salad in a restaurant, let alone a place with a reputation. I decided to try to choke some down to balance out the meal to come, so I reached for the 3 bowls of mystery. Upon closer inspection, it was fresh out of the Wish Bone bottle “Italian” and “French” dressing (both as unauthentic as they are putrid), and what looked like bleu cheese dressing. I reached for what looked the least horrible and poured some over my chunks of iceberg and took a bite. If Miracle Whip and Dole joined forces to make a “bleu cheese salad” for Michael Hutchence (post head injury, pre-death), this would be it; an awful, tangy dressing with little cheese and no “bleu,” over what your average college freshman would know as “lettuce.” I've been to the corniest family joints in my lifetime, for some reason or another, and they at least make an effort to have their own sauce, not just 3 bowls of Wish Bone sitting out. And what sort of Italian-owned eatery doesn't put vinegar and oil on the table? I kept looking for it, or my waitress, to no avail. I stopped after trying to chew a few pieces of the “salad” and reached for more bread as I awaited my steak.
My strip finally came out on a plain plate with a sad baked russet covered in tin foil. The steak looked fine at first, so I decided to dress my lonely potato with the sides they provided: a single serving cardboard package of sour cream, and a single rectangle of foil wrapped butter (nice touches). Just as I was about to cut into my steak, I looked at the woman next to me who ordered the side dish of steamed vegetables in lieu of potato, and I almost laughed out loud at what I saw. They actually steamed mini carrots found in the bag lunches of teenage girls and never a self respecting restaurant. At this point, I dreaded cutting into my meat.
As soon as I cut in towards one end of the strip that I ordered medium-rare, I saw that it was going to be a rough meal. Literally. After I cut a piece off with the ease of cutting suede with plastic Fiskars, I saw that this steak was overdone to medium-well. Brown and light pink, not red and bloody as I ordered it. I usually don't stand for this nonsense, but it dawned on me that the server only comes to the table to bring food which we all had. I decided to choke it down with bad memories of eating charred box steaks that came free with a new windshield in days of yore. Another problem with this overpriced hunk of wasted meat was that there wasn't a hint of seasoning. The salt was repeatedly in one hand being shaken over each individual bite of this disgrace.
The server probably didn't ask how my food was because every blue haired, hot dish eating member of the greatest generation chews everything down without causing trouble when they eat there. I however, would usually have sent the steak back, especially when paying $26 for it. So, aside from that, the server basically did her job: take the order, bring the salads, bring the steaks, and I did notice my water was never empty (thinking back, I should have drank it down to bring her attention to the brick on my plate). I didn't order any drinks, but people around me seemed to be happy with their beverages.
I would expect to pay around $14 for my meal at a place like Timber Lodge, a sad chain usually found in malls. A plate that simply comes out with a steak and a baked potato in a tin foil wrap with pre-packaged accoutrement is something you expect to see at a roadside diner, not a place charging an outrageous $26.
I consider Outback Steakhouse to be corny, lame and of mediocre quality, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Australia beyond the “found art” they throw up on their walls. But for $20, you get an attentive wait person working for tips who's job it is to accomplish a people-pleasing corporate mission statement, a 20 ounce edible porterhouse (strip loin and tenderloin) that if not cooked to your liking, will be replaced on the fly, a baked potato with anything you want out of the “loaded” options with it's jacket coated in kosher salt, and a caeser-ish salad that actually tastes good, not to mention all the freshly baked pumpernickel with whipped butter (in a DISH!) you can handle. Here's my point: Outback should be looking down at Mancini's, and for a place known for it's steaks, what does that say about the famed Char House?
If you want a steak and don't want to spend Morton's money (which isn't much more than the value-less Char House), don't think you're doing the community a favor by supporting a local restaurant that serves school lunch salads, flavorless and carelessly plated potatoes, steamed lunch snack vegetables and badly cooked, unseasoned meat...but also don't feel bad; they have plenty of returning customers who love the idea of steak yet don't know what a steak should taste like. If you want an evening out at Mancini's, eat at home first and go for what Mancini's is good for: cheap drinks, fun and nostalgic atmosphere, and it's famous people-watching.
GRADES
ATMOSPHERE B-
SERVICE C
FOOD D-
VALUE F---
OVERALL: D
Mancini's not only doesn't live up to it's hype, it chokes like a Minnesota sports team. Not the best first review...
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