Venue: RPM, 66 W. Kinzie Street, Chicago
The call of the night was done by Levy, and it had nothing to do with food.
Upon noticing that we were being seated at a booth, he promptly requested a table, as our party likes to face off to discuss politics or Bloom’s escapades amongst each other.
We were greeted by who we thought was our server, a cute brunette with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. As it turns out, we got cock-blocked by our real server, Eric, who Levy noticed had a severe case of halitosis. When our lady steward returned, we begged to have her serve us. However, we didn’t notice Eric standing over our table while hearing our preference for his removal.
Our customary starter, the Seafood Tower, had probably some of the most succulent shellfish this side of the gulf. However, we believe they skimped, as we claimed that the tower only held enough to feed to 3 people and not for the 4 of us. Jumbo prawns were the size of Andre the Giant’s hands and damn tasty. Three sauces for dipping, including a Wasabi Béarnaise which Goodman claimed could be eaten on its own… and it was.
Levy’s 16-ounce, Peppercorn-crusted (per his usual order) Bone-In Filet was taken down promptly to its base, with the bone being saved for his new Staffordshire Terrier at home. Adels made out well with his 12-ounce filet. Blue Cheese Whipped potatoes were dreamy.
The Baked Alaska was our finish with full tableside presentation. Goodman caught a whiff of leftover methane with his portion, which probably explains his light-headedness upon receiving the check. Bloom spooned some extra chocolate sauce onto his plate, clearing every last smear.
Line of the night: (upon hearing that Bloom was dating someone again)
“Is she nice? Where is she from originally? She hasn’t dated Charlie Sheen, has she?”
Bloom's Score: 6 out of 10
Grass-fed strip lacked juiciness.