El Gaucho, 319 SW Broadway, 227-8794
A chateaubriand for two, carved tableside, costs $82.
A filet mignon at the Acropolis, served stage-side, costs
$10.
The grilled portobello mushroom El Gaucho offered as a
side dish was yummy. It costs $6.50.
GENTLE READERS:
Miss Dish wants to let you in on a secret: Whenever
a big restaurant comes to town, it usually has an opening
party. The newly minted chow house prints up nice little
invitations and saturates the city. The "right" people are
invited and they are invited for one purpose: to scarf and
tell. Case in point: the opening party on March 12 for El
Gaucho restaurant, Seattle's latest export. El Gaucho
has taken over the spot once occupied by the recently deceased
Piatti in the Benson Hotel on Broadway; the
restaurant people sent out invites to all of Portland's
VIPs (even WW's resident guttercrawler Max T.
Malt got one). So who are Portland's VIPs? A quick perusal
of the crowd on Sunday, cross-referenced with data from
previous engagements, reveals that the main ingredient is
people who either are on local television news or just look
like it. A nice showing from fellow restaurant folk adds
some much-needed fiber (Miss Dish had a swell conversation
at this shindig with the lovely Lisa Schroeder, who
co-owns Mother's Bistro). And the rest of the people
look like the sons and daughters of VIPs who inherited the
invites. No press people are to be found except for the
ubiquitous floating visage of Maggi White.
Now, the first thing you need to know about El Gaucho is
that it's a fancy-schmancy restaurant. It's based on an
iconic Seattle dining room that once was the king of swank
(we're talking mink-lined booths) and was reborn under owner
Paul Mackay as the modern version of the retro supper
club. Its mission statement reads: "Capturing the glory
of the past and burnishing it with contemporary style and
verve." So where the space that held Piatti was light and
airy, this space is now dark and on the sinister side. A
cigar room (of course!) waits gallantly. The menu heaves
with meaty choices; the house specialty is any of various
cuts of 28-day dry-aged angus beef. A filet can set you
back $36 here. Thank God this town has finally had the decency
to open up a high-end steak house! (Insert dripping sarcasm
here.) So back to the party. The most amusing thing about
these opening shebangs is that, although you're dealing
with the choicest cuts in supposedly elegant surroundings,
the whole thing ends up seeming like some high-roller night
at Ye Olde Country Buffet. Inevitably the place is
crammed with people and the food is laid out on a table.
Little plates are supplied to keep naughty Tommy boys and
synthetic business-suited gals from going overboard. Guess
what? It doesn't work. The boys and girls build homages
to the Chrysler Building. They hover (I saw one man situate
himself by the oysters; whenever a new batch would appear,
he'd snatch them all up). They balance three plates on two
palms. This restaurant will never see a night like this
again.
Miss Dish has made a vow. The next time she gets one of
these invites she will swing by Sisters of the Road
cafe and pick up someone with decidedly better manners who
appreciates gracious offerings to bring along for the ride.
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 15,
2000
|
