Rusty’s Blog

“You need any help?”

”No thanks,” I said. “I know my car is close to here somewhere.”

The two patrolmen were draped over a parked golf cart. After I spotted my truck and circled back toward it, I thought I heard them say something about people not ever wanting their help. Pride being dumb, or something equivalent.

I tossed my bags to the passenger seat and got inside the cab. The air was stale, so I cranked the ignition. I’d realized earlier that my running shoes were shabby-looking for dinner at a place with a dress code, so I bought some new shoes and planned to change into them in the truck. I’d wanted to buy new shoes to wear to work anyway.

As I reached around my steering wheel and groped at my feet, I wondered how many other people showed up to Atlantic Station, realized they were underdressed for dinner, bought clothes, and changed in their cars. I was also curious about whether the patrolmen noticed people doing this, and wagered with each other about how many times they’d see people go through the ritual over the course of an evening.

A few moments later, I emerged from the parking garage wearing my new shoes. I stopped in the Moe’s bathroom to take a leak and tuck my shirt in. Then I walked over to Strip, a pseudo-upscale steak and sushi joint.



The reviews online didn’t sound promising, and I wondered whether I’d made a mistake when I thoughtlessly suggested the place in an email discussion with the bloggers Sara had corralled for dinner. We had a list of restaurants to choose from for Midtown Restaurant Week, and Strip was on it. I saw steak was on the menu, and that was enough for me before I did some due diligence. It turns out Strip was created by the same company which spawned Twist and Shout, two places I loathe.

”What have you got on tap?” I asked as I sat down at the bar.

”Nothing,” the bartender said.

”Give me a Jack and Coke.”

A moment later, as she sat a stiff Jack and Coke in front of me, she would elaborate that they have bottled beers. Then she disappeared into the back room.

I sipped my drink, cringing at how strong it was. It’d been a while since I ordered a liquor drink, preferring beer for the most part these days. A male bartender walked up, and shouted toward the back room.

”You really shouldn’t smoke so much marijuana!”

There was some incoherent mumbling.

”It’s ok, there’s no one important here tonight anyway,” he said. Then he turned and looked at me.

”Are there any questions I can answer for you?”

There weren’t. Then he had a moment of self-awareness and said, “We really don’t condone the use of narcotics here.”

”As long as you don’t fuck up my steak, it doesn’t bother me,” I said.

Grayson was the first to arrive, followed by Sara. We shared opinions of the Regal Cinema movie theater in Atlantic Station, and about other theaters we like and dislike. Theaters now seem to have a shelf life of 10 years or so. Once they deteriorate the first time, they don’t bounce back.

As we were being seated, I thought the same shelf life might be applied to trendy restaurants. I looked at the glossy, contemporary seats in Strip and thought of the mildew smell and worn-down carpet on the staircases at Shout, which is a little older than Strip.

I sampled the oysters Sara ordered as an appetizer. Of the two I ate, one had a hint of fishiness and one didn’t. Jen complained they were too salty, but that might have been because she ate them off saltine crackers. Sara said these were better than some oysters she’d had because they were smaller.

Then came the three course meal for $25, which was a draw of Midtown Restaurant Week.

Up first was a grilled chicken satay appetizer, which was three strips of grilled chicken with a peanut sauce. I was pleased that the chicken was juicy, as often these sorts of strip appetizers feature dried-out meat. Unsurprisingly, the sauce had a distinct peanut flavor, but it wasn’t overpowering.

Next was what was described on the menu as a salad, but was really a quarter head of lettuce. I thought they were trying too hard to be cute with this dish. When I started eating it, I thought there wouldn’t be enough dressing and bacon to cover every bite. When I got to the end of it, there was puddle of goopy dressing and tomato slices that went to waste. The flavor was okay but I could have done without the gimmick.

For the entree, we had a choice of a flatiron steak and grilled fish. All six of us had the steak, which came with mashed potatoes and steamed green beans. The green beans were fine, but the potatoes had a taste and consistency to them that felt processed; a cheese flavor, like they came out of a box. Someone described it as a chemical taste.

The steak, which I ordered medium-rare, was good but not great. It was a little drier than I would have liked, and parts of it were a little tough. Flatiron steaks are more difficult to tenderize than other cuts of beef, but I’ve seen it done.

My impressions of Strip sound somewhat negative when I read back on what I’ve written to this point, but it really wasn’t that bad. Eating there is a better decision than, say, eating at Moe’s.

The point of this outing was to try a new restaurant, and I’m glad I went because I enjoyed the company. I hope Sara organizes more of these outings, and that I can (over)write more reviews of them.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 27th, 2008 at 2:35 pm. It was tagged atl, atlanta, atlantic station, overwritten, restaurant, restaurants, review, reviews, strip, terribly overwritten restaurant review, terribly overwritten restaurant reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.