Intrepid Women: A Power Lunch at Peter Luger’s

The Intrepid Woman Explorer series is designed to bring our readers a close-up and personal view of some activities and elements of business culture that have been historically male-dominated.

So I thought, what better way to kick off the series than a review of my recent dining experience at Peter Luger’s, the legendary Brooklyn steakhouse that has defined the experience of power lunches and expense account dinners in New York for over 120 years.

Late this summer, I went there for a mid-day lunch with some associates from my law firm, and a few summer associates who had wanted to dine at this red meat Mecca all summer long. Of the nine of us who went out to eat that day, I was the only woman. (Note: Luger’s is not for the vegetarian, calorie counter or faint of heart).

The nine of us trekked over to Brooklyn by car, and waited about a half an hour for our entire party to arrive before the gruff old hostesses would agree to seat us. All around us, the old school dining room and bar looked like a casting call for either “Wall Street” or “The Sopranos,” depending on which direction you looked.

As soon as we sat down, delicious garlickly rolls and heaping plates of butter hit the table. I had been advised on the ride over by my co-workers that the “cool” thing to do at Lugar’s is to order both the famous porterhouse steak and the huge bacon cheeseburger. When in Rome … I told myself. And so, caving in to peer pressure and wanting to prove that I could hang with the guys, I too ordered a porterhouse as an appetizer and a bacon cheeseburger as an entrée.

One summer associate made the mistake of trying to order a salad. He was so quickly and thoroughly ridiculed by the waiter that he hung his head in shame.

Soon, the steaks arrived, huge hunks of bloody rare meat and bone on a sizzling plate. The waiter made a big production of slicing the sirloin and filet off the caveman-sized bone and serving a heaping portion of each our plates. He then took a spoon and began ladling the pool of blood and oil that had collected beneath the steak onto our plates.

“Oh, no, not for me!” I said, trying to cover my plate.

“Relax, it’s Peter Luger’s fat-free special sauce,” the waiter said impatiently. Apparently, the lady doth protest too much. Since I didn’t have a choice in the matter, I started cutting pieces off of my forcibly-sauced steak. Though I wasn’t at all used to eating food this heavy, I have to admit that the charred crust and the rich nearly raw meat were delicious and satisfying in an oddly visceral way.

As I approached and then surpassed the feeling of “full,” the waiter brought out our bacon cheeseburgers, with slices of extra thick bacon, and oh yes, French fries and onion rings. Though I had ordered my burger medium, the center looked like it had recently been mooing. Apparently, real men like their beef rare. Still, the dripping flavorful ground prime beef was tasty and the toasted sesame seed bun held up like a champ to all of the juices.

I only made it halfway through before throwing in the towel and conceding defeat. By that point, I had begun to feel light-headed and woozy, the sure signs on a self-induced food coma coming on.

We asked for the check, but just when I thought the carnivorous extravaganza had come to a merciful end, the waiter informed us that he was bringing us some complimentary “schlag,” Luger’s signature dessert. Moments later, it became clear that “schlag” is probably German for “big bowl of frozen butter.” We ate this by dipping gold foil-covered milk chocolate coins into the bowl and scooping it up like salsa.

Finally, we settled the bill with a big wad of cash (the only way at Luger’s, which still doesn’t take any credit cards except its own). We then took Luger’s private car service back to Manhattan, where I tried but to make something productive out of the rest of my workday (but ended up with heartburn all afternoon, taking a nap on my keyboard).

Verdict? A once in a lifetime experience that I’m glad I tried. Maybe I’ll go back one of these days, if my waistline and my wallet can handle it.