Steak for the Traditionalist

One of my frequent dining companions occasionally mentions that his mother is a butcher’s daughter. He loves to recount how when he goes over to her house for Friday night dinner, she roasts or braises a nice piece of beef for everyone but him; he gets a baked frozen chicken breast. It serves him right for being a cardiologist. While I wouldn’t usually enlist my friend to go with me to a steakhouse, his mother seems the perfect dinner companion for the new Mastro’s Steakhouse in Beverly Hills, a 5-month-old import from Scottsdale, Ariz.

As we settle at a large table with a view of the kitchen, Dr. B, as I’ll call him, looks up from the menu and innocently asks his mom the difference between a rib-eye and a porterhouse. Charlotte rolls her eyes and mock complains that her boys never learn. Dr. B is just asking, anyway. He’s having fish.

Charlotte looks over the steak selection and doesn’t hesitate: She orders the rib-eye, pointing out to her son that beef cooked on the bone is more flavorful. “Take the bone out of the porterhouse, and you’ve got the New York strip on one side, and a filet on the other,” she lectures. He pretends he’s interested.

When her steak comes, it’s just as she ordered--charred medium rare. Tender and juicy, it gets high marks for flavor. I’m confronting the special bone-in filet, touted as the best steak in the house. It’s rectangular, with a blade of bone at the top. When I cut it, it’s slippery soft. Charlotte takes a bite. “I’ve always hated filet,” she says, grimacing. “The texture is almost liver-y.” I fully agree.

To the delight of those who love to gnaw on bones, Mastro’s is very big on them. The menu usually offers four or five steaks cooked on the bone, including a Kansas City strip and a veal bone-in strip. It’s a craving a lot of Angelenos must share because the place is packed. Limos idle at the curb, disgorging a well-padded crowd--women replete with bouffant hairdos and chin tucks, men in double-breasted suits with handkerchiefs peeking from their pockets and polished Gucci loafers on their feet. Inside, a clutch of managers snaps to attention.

Set in the radically remodeled space that was once home to the failed remake of Chasen’s on Canon Drive, Mastro’s has the look of a suburban outpost with its flagstone pillars, startling blue-glass facade and shiny gold letters. Downstairs is a small bar and a large, dark dining room. Most of the action is upstairs, though, especially for those old--or young--enough to remember the original Rat Pack, and who like to start the evening off with a martini or a Scotch on the rocks. A larger-than-life portrait of Dominic Mastro, father of founder Dennis Mastro, seems to float, disconcertingly, at the top of the stairs. Just behind, squeezed into a corner near the bar, a lounge act earnestly belts out upbeat standards.

On another night, without Charlotte, as we wait upstairs for our table, a gallant gent with a removable pompadour offers me his seat. Where am I? It feels like a different world, one full of good cheer and incorrigible party animals sneaking a smoke on the balcony. It’s easy to call it a Beverly Hills cliche, but did anybody expect Mastro’s to be this much fun? Or to find so many show-biz legends checking out the scene? At one long table, where a birthday girl is busy opening presents, somebody is wearing a leopard-print toilet-seat cover on his head.

But back to the appetizers. You’ve got to be in a certain mood to appreciate the standard shrimp cocktail served in a dish that spews dry ice smoke. I’m all for theatrics, but the shrimp could have more flavor. The king crab legs seem awfully skimpy for the price. Talk about retro: Check out the big white mushroom caps stuffed with crab, bread crumbs and so much garlic you can smell them coming across the room. Fat onion rings coated in crunchy bread crumbs are messy and greasy, but they grow on you. What about the toasted ravioli? These are as big as hockey pucks, heavy with cheese, rolled in the same bread crumbs, “toasted” and served with an oregano-dosed marinara sauce that must have been simmering for hours, if not days.

When a friend and I decide to share the double porterhouse, charred medium rare, it comes to the table already cut off the bone, sliced and put back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Eyeing it, we worry that it’s overcooked, but we discover that it’s absolutely perfect, with a silky tenderness. A couple of times, though, our steaks here weren’t as correct. For a change, try the juicy pork porterhouse--one of the best items on the menu. The butcher’s daughter also likes the rack of lamb because it really tastes like lamb.

As for side orders, two or three for the table should do because they’re large. These include a respectable baked potato with all the fixings and decent sauteed spinach. The gooey and rich au gratin potatoes get a recommendation, too, along with the excellent shoestrings. Skip the gluey mashed potatoes and the creamed spinach or creamed corn, both of which are more cream than vegetable.

Mastro’s wine list, crammed onto a single long sheet so that anyone over 40 requires a magnifying glass to read it, includes a number of three-figure Cabernets and Meritage blends. And if you’ve always wanted to try the 1995 Opus One, well, here’s your $275 chance. As wine lists go, this one is middle of the road, heavy on established California labels. The wine room off the lounge area seems more a place to show off big bottles than for serious drinking.

Most steakhouses seem to count on few clients making it to dessert, and Mastro’s is no exception. The billowy key lime pie is excruciatingly sweet, the pecan pie more fluffy than properly dense. Our table leaves Valrhona chocolate ice cream practically untouched because of a peculiar soapy taste.

Your bill can quickly escalate if you’re not vigilant about extras. Coffee is a whopping $3.50, as is hot tea. Still, if you order carefully and share appetizers and sides, Mastro’s, surprisingly, can come out to just over $50 per person before tax and tip.

Mastro’s touts itself as the steakhouse with a personality, but despite the quality of the beef, it falls squarely in the traditional steakhouse category. Big drinks, big steaks and few appetizers, sides or desserts that pass muster. It’s steakhouse as usual. Except for the number of bones.

Mastro’s Steakhouse

246 N. Canon Drive

Beverly Hills

(310) 888-8782

Cuisine: American

Rating: *1/2

AMBIENCE: Manly steakhouse with tables as generous as the steaks, a lively bar scene upstairs and wine room for private dining.

SERVICE: Willing, but sometimes scattered.

BEST DISHES: Toasted ravioli, bone-in Kansas City strip, bone-in rib-eye, double-cut porterhouse, fried onions, sauteed spinach, au gratin potatoes. Appetizers, $8 to $16. Main courses, $25 to $86 (for the 29-ounce colossal lobster tail). Sides, $6 to $9. Corkage, $25.

WINE PICKS: 1998 Chateau Montelena “Calistoga Cuvee” Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa Valley; 1998 Joseph Phelps “Insignia,” Napa Valley.

FACTS: Dinner nightly until midnight. Valet parking. Rating is based on food, service and ambience, with price taken into account in relation to quality. ****: Outstanding on every level. ***: Excellent. **: Very good. *: Good. No star: Poor to satisfactory.