The Golden Age

I don't eat red meat, but sometimes a man needs a steak.

Gwyneth Paltrow

There was a time - before we became soft - when American nutrition looked like this:

It was a time when martinis were served cold and steaks were served thick and rare. It was a time when America led the free world - the golden age.

Steakhouses across America embraced this ethos of post war exceptionalism and incorporated “golden” into their name. But, like the greatest generation, we’ve lost far too many of them.

The prevailing model of “fast casual” restaurants - those sterilized places that force patrons to shuffle along a sneeze guard pointing and negotiating for an extra dollop from the trough - are a direct assault on the American way of life.

Gone are tableside preparations, flaming desserts, and $100s slipped into a maitre d’s pocket. Hospitality, spectacle, and cocktails are being overrun by self-service and tip-demanding electronic tablets.

Most critical: commercial real estate deals grind to a stop without proper venues for puffery and celebration. We kill off American carnivore palaces at our own peril - without them, capitalism dies. Saving these places is not about nostalgia, it’s about assuring continued American progress.

Capitalism, as we know it, is at a crossroads.

A ray of hope remains on Las Vegas, Nevada’s West Sahara Avenue, where the strip devolves into a grittier downtown.

There, the Golden Steer’s exterior shines with all the subtlety of a strip club.

Their menus haven’t changed much since 1958.

The martinis were good enough for Dean Martin and they’re good enough for the rest of us.

And the steaks are as they should be.

The Golden Steer was built for all Americans, but mostly for entertainers, goodfellas, and real estateurs. Those with ugly dates looking for thin steaks should dine elsewhere.

A palace built for good times and commerce (wait for the end):

Golden steakhouses deliver experiences of operatic magnificence.

Nine years senior (opened in 1949) is the Golden Bull, another golden age joint located in Santa Monica, California.

The vibes are similar, but more casual and compact.

It too has a proper menu.

A proper menu.

Meat and martinis.

We can’t afford an America devoid of Golden steakhouses. We must fight back against our fast-casual overlords and train up our next generation of real estateurs to appreciate the wondrous glamour and grandeur of steaks and gin.

I, for one, am doing my part.

God bless America, God bless real estate, and God bless Golden steakhouses.