My Favorite Steakhouse Right Now Is...
A5 serves as a national blueprint for a better type of ambitious steakhouse
Paid subscribers can scroll down for a review of the steaks at A5 in Denver, plus notes on the conservas at Cart-Driver, and the pastries at Reunion Bread.
What restaurant reviewing taught me about air travel and anger
I spent 22 hours at the Denver airport last week.
Weird stuff happens when too many people are trapped inside a secure facility designed to prevent them from falling asleep. Time slows down. Water becomes a luxury at $7.45 per bottle (“Is that okay?” a polite cashier queried, as if I were supposed to bargain for hydration). At one point, around 8:30 a.m., a lady knocking back margaritas asked whether her “hot daughter” could sit next to me (they were going to Vegas). That’s when I decided it was time to leave the club.
That aside, you won’t hear much Crowdstrike complaining from me. One of my longtime (if random) rules of food reviewing is that if I get to spend my life critiquing restaurants, I don’t get to single out individual airline carriers, or rant about Hudson News. Everyone complains about air travel, and I’m not sure I have any cutting truths to bring to the table about mandatory bag checks at the gate.
Contrary to what my good colleague Anton Ego has to say, filing tough reviews of restaurants eats away at your soul over time. So I don’t need any more of that energy in my Sutton Life! That said, by all means, tweet it all out if you need to; there’s something admittedly democratic about letting folks know you’re not the only one stranded 2,300 miles away from home. But understand that you’ll only sour your own mood if you chew out the service rep responding to your posts.
Whenever I feel a twinge of anger about a cancelled flight, I think about something else. Because really, who cares — you certainly won’t when you’re drinking a rum & coke in seat 12C a few hours later. And since I mentioned the A word, let me add this: anger generally has no place in a restaurant review. That’s true for a variety of reasons, but it often boils down to, “Do I want to spend my free time with this angry guy?” (No). That’s something to think about next time you’re writing a Yelp review of some taco truck, or taking it all out out on a tired airport staffer who woke up at 3:00 a.m. to get you home safely.
Instead, try thanking them. Everyone nearby will like you more.
Why A5 is my favorite steakhouse right now
At a certain point, I needed a break from the airport.
So after 19 consecutive hours — and a quick nap on the baggage claim floor — I escaped to Denver and snagged one of the last bar seats at A5 Steakhouse. Shortly thereafter, I was cutting through char siu bacon thicker than a Snickers bar. And I was staring at wagyu bavette with such a deep char it looked like redwood tree bark.
The steak smelled of smoke and blood.
This was my second visit to A5 in a week. Now, I realize that few of you will travel to Denver specifically to eat at, well, any restaurant. And that’s fine by me; I’m not much of a destination diner. I don’t go away to sample tasting menus that cost $1,000 for two; there are enough of those in New York. I travel to ski down mountains and to cycle up them. If there’s a turquoise body of water nearby, all the better.
But I do like to eat well when I’m away, usually at chill places frequented by locals. A5 by chef Max Mackissock — part of Juan Padró’s Culinary Creative Group — is one of those places. And even if you don’t have plans to pass through Colorado, I’d argue that A5 serves as a fine blueprint for a better style of steakhouse, anywhere.
A blonde wood bar dominates the LoDi room. Leafy fronds hang above the restrooms. Light pours in from giant windows. It all feels very tiki bar. It does not feel like a steakhouse saddled with too much leather, too much mahogany, or portions that are way too big.
You could say that oversized everything is the point of a steakhouse, a quintessential study in American excess. A5 takes a more restrained approach. There are seven steaks on the menu, and all but two are 12 ounces or less. And four of those cuts are quirky bistro steaks you don’t see too often in this type of place: the tri-tip, the bavette, and the Denver.
All steaks are cooked over wood. As they should be.
Like at any steakhouse, sauces and sides are extra, but these add-ons are more unique. Polychromatic tomatoes come with stone fruit and chile oil. Fried rice comes with bacon and kimchi. And gravy boats arrive filled with ham-studded X.O sauce, nuoc cham hollandaise, and house chile crunch.
There is no old-school creamed spinach or new-school caviar service. Instead of classic tartare, you get a fluffy Konbi-style sandwich filled with raw beef. And the only shrimp cocktail is Mexican coctel de camarones.
A5 is a steakhouse that takes more cues from an edgy small plates place than a bovine stalwart like Peter Luger or Wolfgang’s. And while there’s some very cool things happening throughout the New York’s larger Red Meat scene, I truly wish there were more places like A5 (or Cote) in my hometown.
This is my favorite steakhouse in America right now.
So how is A5’s tartare sandwich?
Quite tasty! Imagine an overstuffed roast beef sandwich, except in this case the filling is raw tenderloin! This is initially a study in squish, thanks to the super soft milk bread and chopped beef. And then, the cornichons creep on in and add a whisper of acidity, while a runny quail egg oozes across your tongue. Really, there should be more tartare sandwiches out there (though you can have a nice carpaccio sandwich in New York, if you know where to find it…). Cost: $18.
Behind the paywall:
Reviews of the amazing wagyu steaks at A5
The brilliance of A5’s char siu slab bacon
Why Cart-Driver is your home for conservas
My favorite almond croissant at Reunion Bread