Steak Frites Review - Hell's Kitchen - New York - The Infatuation
"Naming a place after a dish may seem lazy, but it’s actually bold. You have to be able to back it up, and Steak Frites does, serving textbook interpretations of classic bistro food—including a flawless version of its namesake dish. If you’re looking for something smothered in foam under a smoke-filled cloche, go elsewhere. If you’re looking for straightforward, satisfying French fare, go to Steak Frites. Appropriately, this Hell’s Kitchen restaurant looks like the end result of a director telling a set designer: “Build me a neighborhood Parisian bistro where we can film our meet-cute.” Worn wood furniture, distressed gold-framed mirrors, and vintage cartoon postcards make this place feel decades old. It’s bustling, loud, and cramped, with waiters constantly bumping into each other, and glasses getting knocked over about once every hour. If you come often enough, you’ll eventually break something too, unless you score a seat at the less chaotic bar. Ordering here involves no major plot twists. Beef and fries are the leads, and they're what you should prioritize. There are four different cuts of meat, and while you could go for the côte de boeuf or chateaubriand for two, you'll do just fine with the $38 hanger steak. Order it medium-rare, and it comes out medium-rare, with just the right amount of salt. The fries are an equal partner in this marriage. They’re thin, crispy, and just fluffy enough. Steak Frites' supporting cast shines as well. The onion soup, blanketed with a perfectly browned layer of cheese, and the salade Lyonnaise both look and taste like renditions you might learn to make at Le Cordon Bleu. And we prefer the very saucy gnocchi Parisienne—our favorite non-steak entrée here—to the well-known version at . Most of the characters feel familiar, but Steak Frites isn’t without its charming quirks. The escargots “salad” has snails—sans shells— tossed with buttery chunks of baguette and, oddly enough, celery. It defies expectations, but works well. A few things (the jumbo shrimp cocktail, a gruyère omelette) don't quite match up to the higher standard set by the signature dishes, but they're easily ignored. Should more restaurants start naming themselves after the dish that most defines them? Who’s really going to object if changes its name to “Cacio E Pepe?” And if suddenly switches all their signage to read “Pastrami on Rye,” we would all be like, “Sure, checks out.” Does Steak Frites live up to its simple but audacious name? Absolutely. " - Kenny Yang
