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Slicked-back hair, white bathing suit, sloppy steaks, white couch.
At first, it seems like hes just listing things that sound funny.
Finally, we see past-life piece-of-shit Shane, out with his boys ordering sloppy steaks at Truffonis.
The earnest, beleaguered server begs the table, No sloppy steaks guys, yo I mean it.
An original Ezra Koenig song about sloppy steaks plays.
It is the night of their lives.
Robinson has a fixation on douchebags and the meats they eat throughout his work.
Sloppy steaks at Truffonis is different, though.
Its proud, joyful, reckless.
But could the reverse be true?
Could the siren call of sloppy steaks turn me into a real piece of fucking shit?
But first I had to talk to some experts.
I asked if there was any possible culinary appeal or advantage to this.
What kind of misguided madcap blasphemy is this?!
he answered via email.
But then he gave it more thought and analysis than the concept deserved and sent a follow-up email.
A kind of baptism, if you will, which also robs your steak of its classic steakhouse flavor.
Perhaps Platt was right and those pieces of shit were on to something whether they knew it or not.
And I wouldnt necessarily recommend water as a braising liquid stock or wine is better.
I hate T-bone steaks.
Get a strip or get a filet.
Dont get them both together, they cook at different rates.
Also a T-bone is a rip-off because youre paying more for the bone than the tiny sliver of filet.
I showed up to the venerable, old-school Keens Steakhouse in midtown for a mid-afternoon sloppy delight.
I imagined myself breezing into the joint like Robinson, hair slicked back, sliding into a booth.
I took a sip of New York tap.
Save some of that, Dana reminded me.
It had a higher purpose.
I immediately understood what makes sloppy steaks such a quintessentially piece-of-shit move.
to their grandpas 80th birthday.
They were celebrating milestones.
I was celebrating being a dum-dum who likes a funny show a bunch.
I gave my USDA prime-grade, hand-picked, and dry-aged steak a whores bath.
Water pooled over the plate and dripped beefy brown wet streaks onto the crisp white table cloth.
Waiters coming to snatch em up we had to eat as fast as we could, he says.
Some say its to mask the shame, others to heighten the pleasure.
The shame set in again when a busser came to pack up our leftovers.
Sorry the plate is wet, I told him.
There was an accident.
So I told our server Joey what we had done and why.
That sounds likemilk steakfromAlways Sunny,he said, and he was totally right.
I wanted to come clean.
Girl, dip yourself in a river and wash off.
Youre good, said my new best friend Joey.
My tummy was channelingKarl Havoc, saying I dont want to be here anymore in Morse code.
I had made my body feel like a piece of shit, but had I become one?
I looked at the finance bros walking in and out of the buildings surrounding the park.
High-level pieces of shit take their corporate expense accounts for granted and do coke in the Keens bathroom.
High-level pieces of shittake their steaks well-done and slop them up with ketchup.
Theyride private rockets to space.
So what if you like a sloppy steak?
It doesnt have to define you.
Now go dump water on a steak and look a baby in the eye.
