Eat big - and prepare to atone

Myron's Steakhouse is in its prime

By Ron Bechtol
San Antonio Current
September 25, 2003

Bill Been (pronounced as though you're English) has been (American version) around. From Old San Francisco to Swig, his hospitality history includes several steakhouses, and it all seems now to have building toward the opening of Myrons, his own hock-the-house place in New Braunfels. It's a shame he had to leave town to realize his dream, but the move might prove to be more astute than we had imagined.

Housed in a 1924 movie palace, the minority theater of three once serving the small town, Myron's retains the projection booth, but you would otherwise be unaware of the space's original use--unless you paused to ponder the stamped-metal ceiling stories above your head. The room's layout--almost all booths--gives you little sense of the wall-to-wall size of the space, but its verticality is emphasized by use of tall torchieres that bounce light from the ornately embossed tin. (We quibble over the color of the ceiling--it's an off-putting dark brown--but the intent is right on target.) The booths themselves are well thought out as well: wood up to about sitting shoulder level with fluted glass another foot or so above that. You definitely feel cocooned in your own special environment.

You should feel cosseted by the service as well. And should you choose to begin with a glass of white wine in anticipation of the almost-inevitable bottle of red to come, don't hesitate to place yourself in the hands of Darren Scoggins, the Boudro's alumnus who continues to massage the already respectable wine list. "No chardonnay," I noted. "Wait a minute," he countered, producing a bottle of stainless-steel fermented Babcock (no malolactic, no sitting on the lees). For a California chardonnay, which is often excessively oaky, it had very French qualities. Same story with the Veramonte sauvignon blanc, a Chilean stunner that could easily go téte-a-téte with its citrusy New Zealand counterparts and with the appetizers, which was the point of this exercise, after all.

The Veramonte was one of those wines that could cut across the soft-pedalled creaminess of a dish such as Shrimp Myron, sautéed with garlic, scallion, and a dusting of Cajun spices. (If anything, the shrimp were slightly undercooked, but the flavors were altogether appealing regardless.) Both wines were up to the seared aji tuna, served, as requested, quiveringly rare with just a hint of a blackened crust. The sashami-like qualities of the tuna were emphasized by accompaniments straight out of your favorite sushi bar: Japanese mustard, pickled ginger, and shredded carrot. Well, maybe not the carrot. Fabulous fish, folks.

If it seems as though we're on a wine tear here, bear with me; this is instructive. If you're going to ask a wine steward for recommendations, it usually pays to set parameters--both in terms of style and cost. My opening gambit to Darren was a bottle of Ridge, a California producer known for wines in which Zinfandels play a big, though not necessarily exclusive, role. His riposte was an unabashed, all-zin from California's Lodi appellation--served slightly chilled and decanted "so it develops in a more organized way." Both elegant and racy, the wine went through its organized development dutifully, exhibiting aromas and flavors that ranged from blueberry to coffee and chocolate. Oh, and one more thing: It costs less than the wine I had indicated as a benchmark. This almost never happens.

The true test, of course, lies in a wine's ability to enhance the food experience, and here the supple Burgess was especially fine with the mixed grill, a combination of filet mignon, chicken breast, and pork chop--all in modest quantities, of course. Of the trio, the pork was the least interesting, and not because of the perennial problem, dryness. In fact, it was perfectly moist, but such is the nature of the product these days--bred to be lean and bland--that it had little taste. Despite the tendency of steakhouses not to fiddle with basic flavors, the pork could use some marinating at least. The chicken, on the other hand, was actively herbal and flavorful, and the USDA Prime filet was, well, meaty. Honest, this is the best I can come up with, and it's meant as a compliment.

Myron's goes most steakhouses one better in that not absolutely everything is à la carte; you do get an iceberg wedge with your entrée. Normally, this would be said with a sneer: Nostalgia or not, iceberg doesn't do it. But here, the admittedly crisp and crunchy lettuce serves as a perfect vehicle--an excuse, if you prefer--for the dressing. Myron's sharp blue cheese is already a notch above the norm, but the Thousand Island is frankly fantastic, an entire a archipelago of tastes and textures.

The usual side orders are available, spinach naturally among them. Deviating slightly from the knee-jerk, creamed rendition, we sidestepped to au gratin--and ended up scraping off the melted cheddar to get at the spinach beneath. Good, but no symbolic cigar. The premium-priced asparagus had been carefully trimmed and cooked just a degree beyond my point of preference, but they were nonetheless good with a light hollandaise that didn't immediately signal heart attack. We liked the broiled beefsteak tomato with gorganzola and chives, but it could have been a little less cooked as well. Matchstick potatoes, on the other hand, were salty but appealingly crisp, and the homey Lyonnaise potatoes, sautéed with onion, played right into the hands of the bone-in cowboy ribeye.

Which was, mark this, the best steak I have had in years. I don't know if it was the token bone or the massive marbling--or a combination of the two--but the frankly fatty flavor was fantastic and the degree of doneness totally on taget. (if you take some of this home to snack on cold the next day. the amount of fat in the cut will become alarmingly apparent; hot, however, it's just a part of the flavor profile.) The usual steak cuts are all available as well (though I didn't see a Porterhouse), at prices generally a cut below San Antonio's level for Prime, and other options such as aji tuna with lump crabmeat, thickly cut lamb chops and the inevitable surf & turf--served here with a choice of whole lobster or lobster tail--also appear. Desserts also run the usual gamut from crème brûlée to bread pudding and a perfectly presentable pecan pie.

And, of course, cheesecake. Frequently cheesecake is a disappointment, but the nut-studded graham cracker crust, the thin sour cream topping, and the dense, almost flaky interior combined to make this home-made beauty an outright orgasmic end to a beautiful evening. Yes, the cheesecake is excessive. In fact, everything on the menu smacks of excess, but don't let that stop you. I know I'll be atoning for a couple of weeks in the weight room and at group cycling class, but then I'm constantly making up for one indulgent experience or another. Surely your life is simpler.