the brooklyn beefsteak.

Last Friday the NY Times published an article on the revival of the beefsteak, an old, early 20th century tradition of all you can eat, utensil-free beef banquets.  Back in the day, it was a mens-only affair; nowadays, ladies and gentlemen alike partake in the carnivorous debauchery.  The newer versions of this range from highbrow (fancy beef + utensils + wine pairings) to very lowbrow  (still good beef + no utensils + beer);  Daniel and I went to the lower end of the spectrum iteration of this, the annual Brooklyn Beefsteak at the Bell House a couple of weekends ago, and good god, I think I might still have the meat sweats.

In the photo taken for the NY Times article, Daniel and I are just out of the frame in the top left corner.  We were sitting next to some of the breadthrowers mentioned in the article — oh yeah, so the meat is served in slices atop pieces of French bread, and you stack the bread (which you don’t eat — it only takes up room that would otherwise be available for the meat) in towers at your table.  Three hours of madness, pure beefy madness.  It was hard to focus the camera properly, what with steak juices running down my arms.  I used my Pentax Spotmatic for the color shots, and switched to Eleanor for black and white, once I’d washed my hands (twice, possibly three times; I smelled like hangar steak for days). 

Afterwards, there was much food coma. 

Above: Daniel, three hours later.