Tag Archives: steak

Major beef

This post is part of an ongoing series called 66 Fridays, which explores the wonders of old Route 66. Click on the preceding “66 Fridays” link to view all posts in the series, or visit the initial overview post here.

The Mother Road has no shortage of good steakhouses, but nothing quite matches the spectacle of the Big Texan in Amarillo.

I mean, we know that everything is bigger in Texas, but this place aims to prove it (and proclaim it, if you look closely at the signage in the above sketch!).

Even the swimming pool (yes, a steakhouse with a swimming pool…the place is also a motel) is a reminder of just where you stand.

The main dining room is done in the grand tradition of Meat Halls of the American West…

…but the Tailor and I found ourselves seated in a cozy, quiet nook. Yet even here, we had that big steer head and hot pink flocked wallpaper to remind us that this is how Texas does quiet nooks.

And that is just fine and dandy with me, thank you very much.

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Ranch to table

When it comes to road food along Route 66, sometimes a hot dog just doesn’t cut the mustard. When you’re traversing the Wild West, sometimes you just want a darn steak already. If a slab o’ steer is your cuppa tea, there’s no better place than Rod’s Steakhouse in Williams, Arizona.

We stayed three nights in a motel kitty-corner from Rod’s, so I ended up spending a lot of time staring at that neon sign—no complaints here, it’s a real beauty. What you couldn’t see from the motel was that the steer sign was just the tip of the fluorescent iceberg:

A whole block of gorgeous neon! They had me at hello.

So on our last night in Williams, we sat down for a steak dinner. Between the neon signs and the juxtaposition of cowboy decor and scores of Italian and French tourists, I was already in heaven. But you should have seen the rapture when I saw what was waiting at the table:

Die-cut menus and vintage custom china pattern? Swoon.

I mean, yeah. The steak was great, too—actually, my rib eye was downright perfect. But no matter how unforgettable the meal, it’s the visual details I’ll always remember.

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I used to pass this place every day on my way to work, back when I lived in downtown Minneapolis. I confess I never actually had a meal at Murray’s, but I’m not sure it matters—”butter knife steaks” aside, the design of the facade was mouthwatering enough for my taste.

The last roundup

I couldn’t be here in person for this, and I haven’t actually eaten here since I was a kid. But Giuffrida’s has been a familiar (and completely incongruous) landmark on countless drives north of Boston over the years, and this is the first neon sign I ever loved. So when my dad told me it was closing after over fifty years, I dug out a blurry old photograph I had, and whipped up this sketch. It’s not the same as sketching the real thing, but I’m sorry to say it’s too late for that now. Apparently even the shiny fiberglass cows have been rounded up and carted off.

I have no idea what on earth a giant neon saguaro cactus and a ranch-themed restaurant was doing just ten miles from Bunker Hill. But I’m so glad it was there to be one of the first points of interest on my mental map.