When asked if I wanted to go to the Penthouse I may have snickered a bit. A restaurant called the Penthouse…. Really? I know, it’s on the top of the Huntley hotel in Santa Monica but that name makes me think of some cheesy old greasy bachelor living out his last hurrah. Then I looked up the menu online… Yeah, I’ll go to a steak house and eat the f*ck out of some steak with you.
I’ve been out with Allan once before to grab drinks; I made fun of him almost the entire time because wit and sarcasm are the base of all my conversations when I find my partner to be a bit dull. He’s nice, puts up with my comments and posses a boyish innocence and attitude that I find sickening; he’s 29. Don’t get me wrong; nice is fine but I tend to fall towards fire, restless nights and riveting conversations. His story is interesting, being raised by a single mother, dropping out of high school to become a very sought after CGI person. No, I don’t know exactly what he does; I just know he’s important in the movie-editing world. That being said, his descriptions of everything lack detail and an entertainment quality that is kind of necessary for someone like me who is so easily distracted and very hard to please.
I met Allan at The King Head Pub, for a quick beer before we headed off to the Huntley. I wore thigh high black leather boots, a James Perse t-shirt dress, a Michael Kors leather jacket and a thin shear black scarf from Nordstrom; I looked hot despite the rain and mess of curly hair piling around my face. He was wearing a black pea coat, a black button down collared shirt and med-wash boot cut jeans; his curly thinning light blonde hair and naked boyish face outright contradicted his college drinking habits and generally nervous air.
We walked to The Huntley after a quick beer (a Newcastle for me and a Corona for himself) and he complimented me on my stride. Apparently I walk quickly and with the force of a man… It’s not the first time I’ve been called a “dude” but usually it’s not met with such accurate detail and obvious truths.
The lobby is white and clean; almost cold if the rich leather accents bathed in soft candlelight in variations of brown and black were absent. We walked to the elevator and headed up to the Penthouse.
The elevator opens facing a circular bar and a small hostess station. Everything is as shockingly white as the lobby except for some small accent furniture and the sea of rich dark wood flooring. The hostess greeted us happily but with no enthusiasm out of the ordinary and walked us to a white table set for two. Along the windows there are almost bungalow style tables, with white curtains and chandeliers that would make any large party feel like royalty. On our left was a very modern black leather bench that ran along the wall; around the restaurant were strategically placed couches, chairs and side tables filled with candles making everything look very homey; if it wasn’t for the blaring music and 50 strangers wondering around the bar area of course.
We received our menus and ordered two cabernets I lovingly called Joseph; he was as amazing as the waitress described and we drank while staring at each other talking about subjects that weren’t quite important and that I can’t quite recall. Finally the waitress comes back to take an order, but unfortunately we’ve both haven’t looked at the menu yet. Allan asks if I like cheese, um duh, I’m a freaking cheese connoisseur, but I really just said, “Yes, I love cheese”. I actually only had a bowl of cereal all day, so I felt like a starving child in a 3rd world country in desperate need of something to stick in my mouth. I tried to steer the conversation towards what was good on the menu several times but was met with empty grasps of “Everything is good.” and a continuation of a lame drinking story. I get it, you’re Australian and you love to drink, shocker! Bread arrives and I unfortunately have to refrain myself from stealing all four pieces of the olive loaf and shoving them in my mouth. The waitress comes back one more time and Allan asks for a couple more minutes to look at the menu; then doesn’t even look at the menu! Again, I’m trying not to be rude so I continue talking or more so, nodding and smiling; throwing in a gasp for good measure. The cheese plate comes and I’m over waiting patiently and being lady like; I start eating slowly but definitely not waiting for him to dive in as I should.
Finally the waitress comes back and I jump on her like a lion in heat, “What is great on the menu?!” She asks if we’re getting steak, we both agree and she exclaims that we have to get the chateaubriand for two. We say sure and she asks how would we like it cooked. It’s a shared dish… I say rare he says medium. I try to make him compromise with medium rare but he insists we go with my decision, rare. I would have been fine with medium rare but if he insists, I do love my meat somewhat cold and very bloody.
We continue talking about him, his childhood, his family, his job and his friends. Can we all see where this is going? I can sneak a bit of myself in there sometimes but it also usually leads to another story about himself.
The food comes and it is RARE throughout the entire 5 pieces of meat. I’m excited but feel slightly guilty that he may want to kill himself for agreeing to go with my choice. Then I take a steak and start serving him and myself because I’m starving and I don’t really care that much at this point. There are 3 sauces it comes with, I keep going for the thick béarnaise sauce and he reaches for the spicy horseradish cream. We also ordered garlic roasted long string beans and cauliflower in an almost buttered cheese sauce; both were fantastic.
We finished dinner with another glass of wine, crème brulee and an apple crisp. At the end my stomach was full and warm, the conversation evened out and I was happy. As we walked to my car, I almost exploded with generic stories about my family and myself; I felt that while I was catered to as a lady, my voice was not heard and not really cared for. Allan went on and on about what a great time he had and that he wanted to see me again soon, I kissed him goodnight more out of obligation than desire.
