[When the P.R. e-mail came offering me a free dinner at Robert’s Restaurant at Scores Gentleman’s Club, my first thought was: “Ew, boobies!” And my second thought was, “I can’t take a free meal and write a solicited review, I’m an ethical food blogger.” I was about to click “delete” when I realized that it might be pretty hilarious to send my gay comedian friend Cole Escola to do the dirty deed for me. And Cole, as you’ll see below, happily obliged. This is the story of his dinner at a steakhouse in a strip club.]
When it comes to my tastes, I’m an American through and through. I like deep-fried twinkies, chocolate with peanut butter, and bacon on everything. This patriotic love of decadent combinations is exactly what made me say “yes” when Adam asked if I’d like to review Robert’s Restaurant inside of Scores Gentlemen’s Club. Even though I’m gay (and I mean gay) I couldn’t resist the temptation of gourmet steak paired with topless women. Like I said, I’m an American.
But my excitement started to wear off the more I thought about me actually being there. I don’t frequent Strip Clubs, so until now my points of reference were pretty much The Sopranos and Showgirls. I pictured my petite, feminine self entering a seedy club, walking past all the brooding, thuggish Tony Soprano types and naked women all glaring at me like, “who let this pansy in and how long until we chuck him out.” Horrified at this thought, I decided to bring my friend Pailo for comfort.
It wasn’t necessary though (although everything’s better with a friend, especially a Mexican one like Pailo). What I saw wasn’t so much Showgirls/Sopranos as it was Mad Men. Classy-lookin’ tables, booths, and sofas spread about the dim nightclub all facing a small stage. Of course my first thought was, “This would be a great place to see one of my favorite ladies do an evening of song!” But before I could imagine Tyne Daly onstage singing Cole Porter, a naughty nurse (who seemed a lot more naughty than nurse, in my opinion) entered the stage, moving erotically to the edited-for-radio version of Justin Timberlake’s “Future Sex/Love Sound.” It made me miss my mom a little, but for the most part it was cool.
We sat at “the best table in the house” and sipped expertly-made martinis. I felt like Kanye West, Dolly Levi and Bill Clinton all at once. Pailo gestured to the stripping nurse and asked me if I thought her boobs were real or fake. I helped myself to the bread and goat butter on the table before I told Pailo I’d have to see her move around some more before I could decide. While we pondered her breasts for a moment, our first course arrived.
Pailo had the crab cake. He said it was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I don’t like seafood or the term “melt-in-your-mouth” but I tried it and it was true!
I had chickpea soup with an olive and red-onion relish served with naan. It was very comforting. Pailo tried it, and we agreed it was like an Indian version of a butternut squash soup. We also agreed that the nurse’s breasts were real.
Further away from the stage where the nurse was, a dancer dressed as Wonder Woman straddled a young businessman in an armchair. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen a lap dance!” I exclaimed to Pailo with a mouthful of soup and vodka. “This is great!” I said, “I can just eat my dinner or whatever and watch all this sexy stuff happen! It’s like a classier, hornier Medieval Times!”
It wasn’t until our steaks arrived that I realized we were mistaken, “Pailo, she’s not Wonder Woman, she’s Super Girl. See the ‘S’ on her shirt?” By the time he looked up from his Porter House (which was the size of a small child and smelled like a piece of medium-rare heaven), her top was already off and she was showing us some super girls of her own. “Woah. Those are big! I think they’re real too!” Pailo observed. I agreed and kept watching.
My New York Strip was so tender I only needed my fork to cut it. I dipped every bite in Robert’s famous steak sauce, which was tangy and tasted very fresh (everything there is made in-house).
Meanwhile Super Girl was serving the young businessman a face-full of her buxom chest. I inhaled my steak watching him inhale her breasts. I’m not ashamed to say it was double-D-licious.
For dessert Pailo and I shared a de-constructed banana split. It was simple, sweet, and got the job done as far as desserts go.
Full, slightly tipsy, and a little boobied out, Pailo and I left Robert’s Restaurant at Scores feeling like real gentlemen. It would never occur to me to go there for dinner, but if you’re in the mood for a steak that’s better than or comparable to the best steak you’ve had in New York, why not also have the experience of visiting a Gentlemen’s Club? The ingredients are fresh and each dish and drink is skillfully prepared. You can say that about a lot of restaurants in New York, but none of those places give you topless nurses who might sit and have a drink with you. For that reason alone, I highly recommend this experience. Scores: Putting the Gentleman back in Gentlemen’s Club.