RESTAURANT REVIEW: MARTY SCORSESE’S MEAN STREETS STEAKHOUSE
Bend over, Ben Benson, and push off, Peter Luger! There’s a new king of New York Strip on the New York strip, and his name is Marty Scorsese. Yes, that Marty Scorsese. “Sparks” are indeed flying on the Big Apple restaurant scene, and you don’t have to be packing a Smith &Wesson at Smith & Wollensky to know that the auteur-turned-restauranteur, working in conjunction with executive chef Sonny Kerpous, has arrived in a big way.
You’ll be greeted by a maitre’d whose sense of humor is dry, and a double martini that’s even drier. Do try the house’s signature cocktail, the Bloody Marty, garnished with a Kosher dill “Travis Pickle.” The wine list is extensive, and heavily slanted toward the crimson. Peruse it while sampling the fare from the complimentary “Bringing out the Bread” basket, which includes the housemade “Last Temptation of Crust” baguette, and biscuits rightfully advertised as “So good, you’ll want to kiss the ‘Joe Don’ Baker.” Also memorable is the “Rupert Pupkin Blueberry Muffkin.”
Obligatory appetizers include Clams “Casino,” “Shutter Island” Oysters, and the delectable “Fast Eddie Felson’s Fried Calamari.” Less memorable are the “Sharon Stone Crab Claws,” whose best days are clearly past.
But beef is the reason you’re here, and Bill the Butcher himself would be proud of this array, proudly heralded on your menu under the heading, “Are you talking to Meat?” There’s the “DeNiro Delmonico,” the “Leonardo Loin,” the “Raging Bull Ribeye,” (your waiter will actually shout, “You bother me about a steak?” as it is delivered to the table), the Harvey Keitel-inspired “Prime Rib au Judas,” and the show-stopping “Paul Sorvino Porterhouse,” a steak so big you’ll have enough leftover to soothe two black eyes in the morning. Steer clear of the forgettable “Cape Steer,” a bland petite filet, but do not skimp on the exquisite side dishes, which include “Aviator Asparagus,” sauteed baby “Depart-ichokes,” “Mary Magdalene’s Mushrooms,” and the must-have “Max Cady Mashed Potat-y.”
Desserts are so-so, save for the “Gangs of New York Cheesecake,” and the Jodie Foster-inspired “Iris,” described on the menu as, “A saucy little tart served with a glass of 14-year old port.” Just remember to bring plenty of cash, because green is “The Color of Money” well-spent at this gem, which sadly doesn’t take credit cards. So usher in the “Age of Indulgence,” at Marty Scorsese’s Mean Streets Steakhouse. I’d tell you to go ask Alice, but good luck finding her, because Alice doesn’t live here anymore.