Feeling 555 East – Long Beach

Sometimes my guy friends tell me that there’s a beer-guzzling, beater-wearing, cursing-at-the-TV-during-basketball-games guy hiding under this adorable Asian exterior. Okay, fine, they didn’t say adorable, but the a-word they used isn’t appropriate for the internet.

They couldn’t be more wrong. I swing from the silks, figure skating is my favorite pastime, and I take my tea with my pinky curled.

I ate my freshly fried Calamari like a lady, one crunchy little piece at a time.

But put me in front of a Ribeye glowing in all its glory, and all the girly goes away. Forget the prettier points of fine dining; I’m ripping into it even though it barely needs a knife to cut. The juices are dripping, and the marbled fat glistens like a gem, but I’m too busy savoring to bother with a napkin, and there’s nothing a stain stick can’t wash off my sleeves.

The New York Strip Steak is harder to swallow, but it doesn’t slow me down. There are no ladylike bites and no ginger, nibbling chews. It’s a little leaner but I’m meaner, and every beefy bite is bliss. The side Garlic Mashed Potatoes is smooth, starch that slides like a sieve, and the Creamed Spinach is even better.

The Filet Mignon is the sweet spot of the cow. It’s tender, it melts in your mouth, and you can probably slice with a spoon. You’re probably cringing at the thought of me tearing through the tender tidbits, but don’t worry, I only tried a couple bites. The filet mignon requires a more delicate approach than mine, and it was safe in the gentle hands of… Jason.

My friends were wrong when they said I was more like a man, but now I think they might be on to something. I might have eaten my steak with all my fingers curled up to avoid mangling my new lilac manicure, but 555 East definitely put some hair on my chest. The classiest, most refined, and most expensive (but fairly-priced) of all chest hair, but chest hair all the same.