When it comes to beef, we've heard it all. Since 1993, when the first big E. coli scare left many of us with the impression that babies were dropping dead outside McDonald's, we've been bombarded with bad news about beef. We've heard beef consumption contributes to heart disease, as well as colon, rectal and prostate cancer. We've heard hormone-injected cattle may cause everything from early puberty in children to breast cancer in women, and that mad cow disease in cattle may be linked to Alzheimer's disease in humans. Now, the news gets worse — turns out the cattle we feast on are not only fed the entrails, eyes, brains and bones of other animals, but their manure as well.
U.S. News and World Report states "Despite possible health risks to consumers … more and more farmers are turning to chicken manure as a cheaper alternative to grains and hay." In addition, feed manufacturers have begun using or experimenting with dehydrated food garbage, fats emptied from restaurant fryers and grease traps, and euthanized dogs and cats from animal pounds. Researchers have even experimented with cattle and hog manure, and human sewage sludge. Nothing, it seems, is too disgusting to be ground up in cattle feed. Even Daniel McChesney, head of animal-feed safety for the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, admits, "New feed additives are being introduced so fast that the government cannot keep pace with new regulations to cover them."
And yet, despite all we've heard, the most popular meal in American restaurants is still beefsteak. No doubt about it, when it comes to dining out, we are some manly sons-of-bitches. "Ummm-mm!" we seem to say. "Hand me over a big, bloody slab of feces-fattened bovine. I'm hon-gry!"
I'll admit, even knowing all the nasty details hasn't killed my occasional hankering for steak, so the long lines of people always waiting to get inside Sam Seltzer's Steakhouse piqued my curiosity. Like the old ad says, "Can 10,000 Frenchmen be wrong?" Probably not, but it turns out 10,000 Americans can.
At the newest Sam Seltzer's in St. Pete, the waiting herd is comfortably (and ironically) corralled in a shaded outdoor pen until an inside table is available. Moooving among them, I heard enthusiastic comments, like "We eat here twice a week. You can't get a better deal anywhere!"
Inside, I found a nice dining room done up in the style of a private men's club, with deep booths, dark woodwork and wine keeps built into the walls; almost too nice a setting for a crowd arrayed in tank tops and cutoffs, but hey — it's Florida. We're used to staring at someone's armpit hair while we eat. There's always a special at Sam Seltzer's, and that's what the majority of folks order. I followed the herd, ordering a 20-ounce T-bone served with all the trimmings, including house salad, choice of potato and dinner rolls for $10.95. Holy cow! I've spent more than that on bottled water at some restaurants. No wonder people love this place!
Of course, eventually the food came and spoiled my mood. The house salad was OK; crisp greens, served with a thick, bottled dressing. Dinner rolls were standard bake-n-serve. Fine by me. I wanted Seltzer's to use up most of their food cost on the steak. When that 20-ounce bad boy arrived, however, I began to remember all the horror stories I'd ever read about beef. Was I really risking my health to chaw on this udderly tasteless chunk of bone and gristle? The steak was an unappetizing gray on the outside. Inside, it was medium pink, as I'd ordered. I trimmed away at least a third of the steak's cooked weight in bone, fat and gristle, but when it came to carving the beef, even the Bowie-size steak knife they provided could barely saw through this cow's tough carcass. Was this the revenge of the herds? "Nyah, nyah, na-nyah-nyah! Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you can never chew me!"
Sam Seltzer's allows you to order your steak plain, with their house seasoning, or with garlic. I ordered mine plain, to better judge the natural flavor of the beef. There was none. My companion's steak came with garlic — not fresh garlic, as we'd naively imagined, but canned, chopped garlic. Gack. My garlic-mashed potatoes, with the consistency and flavor of wallpaper paste, were also liberally seasoned with sour, canned garlic. It took three beers to wash the taste of a single spoonful of potatoes from my tongue. And there I found the only good part of my meal — bottled beers are served with perfectly iced 12-ounce mugs.
The lines weren't as long at Cody's Roadhouse, but the beef was infinitely better. Menu prices, not considering daily specials, were within the same range at both steakhouses, and both included salad, bread and potatoes, and all side dishes were surprisingly good. The menu goes beyond steak, with good grilled pork chops and chicken, but I was only there to say, "Where's the beef?" The atmosphere was even more casual at Cody's, where servers encourage you to throw peanut shells on the floor and, if the table next to me is any evidence, interbreed. The steaks, however, more than compensate for the Jerry Springer atmosphere. The beef comes in large cuts and is juicy and flavorful, brought to its best by a kitchen staff that understands the sensual effect of biting through a thick, grilled crust into a rosy, red center. The steak had good, natural beef flavor that didn't need anything to show it off, though additives like steak sauce and seasoned salt are available. In fact, if you consider only the steak, I found Cody's a surprisingly close comparison to beef served at upscale steakhouses Julian's and Ruth's Chris, making Cody's my clear choice for budget-conscious beef.
This article appears in May 17-24, 2001.