No, not that W, Wolfgang Zweiner
If you can get a good table at Zweiner’s Steak House in Beverly Hills, you’re either a liar or Leonardo DiCaprio. Upon walking into this spot on Canon Drive, I thought that it is everything I hate: crowded, loud, with the Lakers game blasting oppressively from the monitors. This place appears about to burst there are so many people and the windows shake from the roar of the voices. The drunken scenesters at the bar cheer loudly for the team and I turn to leave. But my dinner companions bid me forward. This group, mostly LAUSD teachers seem cheerful but wise to ways culinary. Amelia, Katheryn, Lauren, Mr. Newell and I sit at the table. The server is no-nonsense and drops hot bread in front of me. My friends nod their approval and reach for the basket. I inhale the bread and butter. The server quickly returns with homemade potato chips with blue cheese dip. Lauren and Katheryn smile. Me? I want to burst into tears. HOMEMADE POTATO CHIPS with BLUE CHEESE DIP. These are tears of joy, people. My filet mignon arrives cooked medium rare and impeccably seasoned. I hardly notice the roar of the room that was an inconvenience just moments before. I hear nothing. But I see steak. They come with German potatoes, which are cousins to hashed browns but have this crunchy texture on the outside. Killer. The creamed spinach arrives and I happily plop some on my plate. Katheryn tells me to get more. I no longer argue with women so I slap more on my plate. Here comes the mashed potatoes. Steak, spinach, potatoes on top of more potatoes. A perfect meal. As I eat, the server taps my shoulder. “I have a hot fudge sundae for you, sir. The fudge is thick, rich, not overly sweet and the walnuts lightly sprinkled. You will find the whipped cream perfectly mixed.” And I did.
It happened, great food trumped bad vibes and poisoned atmosphere. Wolfgang Zweiner, I’ve never met you, man, but, sniff, sniff (reaches for handkerchief), I like you a lot…okay, I love you. There. I said it.
If you can get a good table at Zweiner’s Steak House in Beverly Hills, you’re either a liar or Leonardo DiCaprio. Upon walking into this spot on Canon Drive, I thought that it is everything I hate: crowded, loud, with the Lakers game blasting oppressively from the monitors. This place appears about to burst there are so many people and the windows shake from the roar of the voices. The drunken scenesters at the bar cheer loudly for the team and I turn to leave. But my dinner companions bid me forward. This group, mostly LAUSD teachers seem cheerful but wise to ways culinary. Amelia, Katheryn, Lauren, Mr. Newell and I sit at the table. The server is no-nonsense and drops hot bread in front of me. My friends nod their approval and reach for the basket. I inhale the bread and butter. The server quickly returns with homemade potato chips with blue cheese dip. Lauren and Katheryn smile. Me? I want to burst into tears. HOMEMADE POTATO CHIPS with BLUE CHEESE DIP. These are tears of joy, people. My filet mignon arrives cooked medium rare and impeccably seasoned. I hardly notice the roar of the room that was an inconvenience just moments before. I hear nothing. But I see steak. They come with German potatoes, which are cousins to hashed browns but have this crunchy texture on the outside. Killer. The creamed spinach arrives and I happily plop some on my plate. Katheryn tells me to get more. I no longer argue with women so I slap more on my plate. Here comes the mashed potatoes. Steak, spinach, potatoes on top of more potatoes. A perfect meal. As I eat, the server taps my shoulder. “I have a hot fudge sundae for you, sir. The fudge is thick, rich, not overly sweet and the walnuts lightly sprinkled. You will find the whipped cream perfectly mixed.” And I did.
It happened, great food trumped bad vibes and poisoned atmosphere. Wolfgang Zweiner, I’ve never met you, man, but, sniff, sniff (reaches for handkerchief), I like you a lot…okay, I love you. There. I said it.
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