Ordinarily, a place like Mitchell’s Steakhouse is out of my price range. And this was certainly true when in my mid-twenties. But through a hilarious work related contest, I did happen to win a prize package for two, featuring cocktail hour, dinner at the downtown Mitchell’s, and then a room for the night at the Adam’s Mark hotel across the street. Also either $200 or $300 in cash, I forget.
At the time, I was seafood manager for the Morse Road Kroger. A glamorous post, I know. The contest is to see who can order the most imitation crabmeat in the zone, and I somehow come out on top. The deal I have worked out with my awesome part timer Christine is that she gets the cash. As for the rest – dinner at Mitchell’s, cocktails beforehand, and the room at Adam’s Mark – my girlfriend Jill and I will be reaping the benefits of this.
They would be bringing in winners from other zones around the state, and bigwigs from the imitation crabmeat company were flying in as well, lending credence to my kickback theory. Our crotchety old meat merchandiser dude, though, who was heading up the operative, must have had some concerns when he called to say I’d won, telling me, “it has to be a girl, now, no guys.” So I’m not sure if he thought I was gay or something or if this was his own personal hangup in life. Maybe he was worried I’d bring one of my rowdy bros and we’d trash the hotel room or start a riot in the steakhouse. Whatever the case, Jill and I dressed up as required for this event, and I have to say she looked pretty smashing.
As for Mitchell’s itself, the experience is of course spectacular. They’ve got some kind of back room reserved just for us and the food just keeps coming, all of it amazing. A number of different appetizers get us started on a side table, as we continue to make chitchat, and the gratis drinks are flowing as they were up to a few moments earlier in the bar at Adam’s Mark. Among the appetizers is a huge hotel pan of a fairly good sized peeled and deveined shrimp on ice. Our cantankerous merchandiser points to them and asks us to name what size these are – I’m pretty proud of myself, at the time, for blurting out “26-30” instantaneously, although everyone else pretty much agreed with me, and this did turn out to be correct.
Regarding the rest of the grub, of course the filet mignon is off the charts, but you kind of expect that. Well, actually, though I’m ordinarily not the biggest filet fan – too dry, a lot of the time – I am nonetheless wowed by the preparation they’ve given this slab of beef. Whatever sauce they’ve glazed this with counters the dryness quite nicely. Yet for some reason what sticks with me most, unexpectedly, is the green beans, which I couldn’t get over then and still think about now. They were crispy yet dripping butter all at once, a series of amazing little flavor bombs, just raw enough to snap in your mouth.
By the end, it’s the one time in my life where I’m so stuffed I actually sweat it for a split second thinking I might barf at the table. Once that feeling subsides, I’m nonetheless feeling about half sleepy, half ready to explode, and one glance at Jill tells me she’s in about the same boat. Technically, we could have bolted from our chairs and gone back to the hotel, but nobody else has left, it seems that we are expected to sit through a couple more speeches from company bigwigs. Dalton is doing one helluva job, we are all fantastic, right on. Only then are we mercifully able to disappear into the night.
This very location (45 N. Third Street) will wind up being named best downtown restaurant of that year (2000) by Columbus Alive. Which can’t be the only time they were lauded in such fashion, although it may be the only time I ever ate at a restaurant during the year in question. What can I say, it was a memorable night, and they didn’t arrive at this exalted state by accident. There’s a reason I still remember this night quite well, and they remain a Columbus institution.
