This isn't a story raving about our legendary meal at a legendary Omaha steakhouse.
This is a story about our witnessing of a legendary prize fighter who may have stayed in the ring way past his prime, and was unceremoniously dethroned in a new world where fighters are no longer street brawlers. ... And maybe I'm too harsh.
As Shelley said when we walked out this steakhouse after having anticipated the visit for months, "Well, we can say that we were once at the famous Anthony's before it closed."
I appreciate that she can put the positive things on a situation when I can't. That's why we work well together.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. ... What is Anthony's you are probably asking?
Anthony's Steakhouse in Omaha, Neb., was one of THE original steakhouses in the famous Omaha steakhouse scene for more than a half century. The restaurant -- which is well known because of the giant steer with "Anthony's" painted on its side that sits atop the front door awning -- was opened 55 years ago by Tony Fucinaro Sr.
Today, it is run by his son, who has decided to hang up the meat clever, so to speak. The restaurant was set to close on Feb. 26, a fact of which we were unaware before Shelley booked us reservations for us on the first night in our Omaha getaway.
Mind you, this trip had been in the works for quite a while, and while I was taking Shel to see her favorite basketball team play ball, I was going to eat me a big, ol' Omaha steak. Shelley, of course, is her own foodie as well, and so it was with great anticipation that we pulled into Anthony's on our first night in town.
Walking into Anthony's, the first impressions didn't disappoint. As you entered, off to the right, was your traditional steakhouse that we all remember from another era before restaurants got glitzy. This was a dining room that had checkered table cloths, and beckoned in family style dinners. To the left of the entryway, was a newer bar area, called the "Ozone," which was later added to the restaurant so that the steakhouse could house bands and keep up with the changing nightlife times.
That's where we were seated.
Interestingly, as we were waiting to be seated, I ran to the bathroom, and while I was gone Shelley overhead a customer tell the hostess they were so sorry to hear that the place was closing. And that was the first time we heard the news, which later was confirmed by our very nice waitress.
We ended up quizzing her throughout our meal, and she shared the details. She'd been working there six years, and there were about 200 employees who were currently on staff. (Trust me, this place was giant, including the bar, the dining area and a patio area.) She said that Tony Fucinaro Jr., who had taken over for his father, wanted to spend more time with his family, and none of his kids wanted to take over the restaurant. So he made the painful decision to close, not interested in seeing someone else pick up the mantel and maybe taint what they had built over a half century.
So, it turned out that Shelley had booked us a reservation at a legendary steakhouse, that only had a couple of weeks yet to live. We were witnessing the end of a legend, and we will get to say we were there.
But ... and there's always a but, isn't there! ... I won't speak of the food. Frankly, nothing we ordered from the appetizers to our entrees, two different steak cuts were not good. They came cold, without taste, and over all was a disappointment. And I admit that at first it ruined the visit for me. I was frustrated that we had looked forward to getting our legendary Omaha steak for so long, only to be let down by the meal. Ultimately, we paid a good chunk of change for an experience.
Walking out, trying to make lemonade, Shelley reminded me that we got to witness a legendary Omaha steak house before it closed. We will always be able to say we were there. And so that's why I describe the original experience as like we watched an over-aged prize fighter who stayed in the ring too long.
Who knows, maybe it was a bad night. Maybe the staff morale was low because of the pending closing of the restaurant. And maybe if we would have been there one night earlier, or one night later, the experience would have been completely different.
Given a week's perspective, I can be a little kinder about the experience. I can now say that, yes, we will always be able to say, we were there. We saw Anthony's before it closed. And the food really didn't matter. ... Much as I can imagine that those who saw George Foreman fight in his later years. The outcome of the fight, like our meal, didn't matter.
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