Restaurant Review - Chain of rules
Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse in Dunwoody goes by the corporate book
Upscale chain restaurants are a deceptive species. Comfortably flashy, aggressively friendly and viciously pricy, they typically convey the impression that they function independently — or at least that they customize their themed concept to each new market they plan on plundering. Yet the telltale signs of corporate regimentation lurk under each crisp tablecloth and behind each solicitous mug.
Take Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse, a national brand of high-end chophouse that opened its first branch in Georgia beside Perimeter Mall in November. Fleming’s is operated, through joint venture agreements, by Outback Steakhouse Inc., though you’ll be hard-pressed to find that information anywhere on the Fleming’s website. The conceptual twist? It’s a contemporary steakhouse without any of the machismo mind-set: Both sexes are treated with egalitarian hospitality.
From my experience eating at the bar on a Friday night, however, the ladies seem to actually get preferential treatment. A bartender who doubles as our server is so busy flirting with the buzzed babes next to us, he hardly gives my friend and I any attention. When I ask to taste one of the Cabs from the restaurant’s signature list of 100 wines by the glass, he sloshes a splash in some stemware, shoves it toward me and swivels away without waiting to see if I like it. I sip five spoonfuls of bland, goopy French onion soup and then push it away. No one asks if I’ve enjoyed it or not, the bartender just snatches the plate away.
Lesson learned: Make reservations on peak evenings, or show up on a mellower weeknight. Service in the dining room on a subsequent Tuesday night is the antithesis of the gruff treatment at the bar. A polite hostess shows us to a corner table in the expansive room, where coppery light filters down from dome-shaped fixtures. Still lifes of wine bottles by Marietta artist Thomas Arvid add the oh-so-important local touch.
Our attentive server, Brook, welcomes us effusively. She points out affordable vino that will pair fittingly with our apps, and pours a taste in our glass to see if we’re satisfied with the selection. Her practiced rhetoric about the menu does sound like it’s been drilled into her head Manchurian Candidate-style, but when a crab cake doesn’t appear with the rest of the starters, she’s on it. That plate materializes from the kitchen within moments.
Part of the reason I’m so intently attuned to the service is that the food prices ascend into the stratosphere — as they usually do at fine dining steakhouses. You need a bit of coddling when you spend $26 to $36 for plates of meat with no accompaniments.
I’ll be honest. I don’t much frequent chain meat palaces like Morton’s or Ruth’s Chris or the Palm. If I’m spending my own bucks on a hunk of steak, I go straight to Bone’s or Chops. And at Fleming’s, I’m reminded why. The enamoring quirks of independent steakhouses are missing: the oddball, lifelong waiters; the often anachronistic but still charming decor.
It’s the same with the food. Too much slickeness and not enough heart. I seriously doubt you’ll have a bad meal at Fleming’s, but you probably won’t have one that makes a lasting impression, either.
You’re obviously in for a hefty main course, so begin with something along the leafy lines, like the warm spinach and portabello salad with crispy pancetta and punchy balsamic dressing. The Caesar could use a more brazenly seasoned dressing, and the lovely, lumpy crab cakes are distressingly shellacked by a too-rich lime butter sauce. If you can’t resist melty overkill at a meal like this, go for the goofy breaded brie (basically mozzarella sticks with a faux French slant).
Now. About the steaks. The ginormous, big-ticket steaks. The website boasts that these wet-aged hunks are seared at 1,600 degrees to seal in all the juicy goodness. Fine. They have a decent char, I’ll give them that. And every hunk o’ meat looks cooked to the temperature specified.
The thing is, they really don’t proffer that much flavor. Of the three major cuts Fleming’s offers, the rib eye tenders the most nuance. But the New York strip and the filet mignon are missing the essential complexity that makes eating a steak a primordial, gut-level pleasure. A great steak blooms and changes on the palate — from mineral and vegetal to salty and smoky and even fruity. It evolves and involves, and that’s why we shell out the cash. The specimens at Fleming’s can be classified as credible, but they don’t spellbind like they should.
Rounded out with festive side dishes, they make the center of a sufficient supper. Creamed corn is thick and gloppy and dearly needs those slices of jalapeño pepper to cut through the richness. I prefer the straightforward creamed spinach. Handfuls of hot shoestring fries make good dunking material for béarnaise sauce, and the loaded baked potato has the strapping, masculine savor that you want alongside a steak. Chipotle mac-n-cheese is a thinly viscous conceit that insults Southerners and should be sent back to the company-wide test kitchen for retooling.
Halfway through the meal, your server will drop into conversation that the lava cake takes awhile to bake, should you want it to cap off your meal. It’s the standard, ubiquitous gush fest — though on one occasion the kitchen overcooked it and the gush solidified into crumbly cake. As expected, the offending dessert was whisked off with profuse apologies and soon swapped for a properly molten replacement.
More than 30 Fleming’s Steakhouses now exist across the country, and how they fare individually is telling. When the restaurant first opened in Houston, folks braved hour-and-a-half waits for bragging rights that they’d conquered the experience. In Seattle, a town known for its stalwart support of independent eateries, the downtown Fleming’s was often empty and soon closed.
How will the chain do in Atlanta? Dunwoody-area businessmen will undoubtedly take clients here, and locals hungry for new dining options can check out the buzz. Ultimately, though, I suspect veterans like Bone’s don’t have much to worry over.