A date to remember

Ruth's Chris steak house
What A special meal with your beloved
Where The Monarch Dubai
Why Valentine's Day menu
Cost Dh495 per couple

There are several ways to look at a preview invitation, but should it turn out to be the preview of a Valentine’s Day menu, it is down to just one.

And that way is to expect an experience that rotates around the axis of commercial love. Can you blame me for thinking thus? The day has survived solely on funding by red ribbons, heart-shaped objects, cards, roses, chocolates and candles. So I imagined a modern-day construct of Shakespearean sonnets, a troubadour singing Bublé covers, Aphrodite-inspired table spreads and romantic decor to win over someone as grouchy as Disney’s Grumpy the dwarf – if he were invited that is.

The moment I entered, my expectations crashed on to the glossy floor of Ruth’s Chris Steak House, splintering my make-believe notions. I was relieved.

Sure I spotted the subtle touches of red serviettes and candles on every table. However, these didn’t quite stand out in the manner of DayGlo plastic barriers or a super-sized man dressed as Cupid. In other words, the restaurant was beautifully restrained, stripped off the bathetic sentimentality associated with the day. What did stand out though was the phrase printed on the menu – ‘to share’. And with those words that demanded the sharing of each dish, the restaurant validated the premise and essence of Valentine’s Day.

Now sharing a dish may seem an atavistic idea given the era of gender equality and equal rights (portion sizes). Still it was a suggestion that was delightfully quaint and deeply traditional, and a befitting ode to a special day.

My rather charming dining partner wasn’t too keen in dividing our Steak House Salad (of iceberg, baby arugula and baby lettuce with grape tomatoes, garlic croutons and red onion) equally because he wanted a larger share of the croutons. In-between cold, crisp forkfuls of salad, he muttered how tasty they were and whether I agreed with the sharpness of the garlic.

An attendant asked us if we were enjoying our meal. Later I was to find out how I would lose count of the number of attendants who served us. And moments after I would place my fork, an attendant with the efficiency of a SWAT team member would swoop in and clear my plate in lesser time than I’d need to place my hands on my lap. I would later also postulate my theory on the lines of a spy camera, and my partner would be amused and dismiss it with nothing more than a peremptory laugh.

Anyway, when it was time for our entrée, we heard it before we saw it – from the sizzle of the grilled Porterhouse steak melting a stick of butter. Again, it was cut into chunks, and served with Porcini Mushroom sauce, mashed potatoes and broccoli. Though delicious and perfectly marbled, my partner complained about not getting to cut his own steak and it being a defilement of the evolutionary bond – and thrill – between man and meat. Given the upscale restaurant theme, I placated him saying he holds a silver knife, not one of those hunting instruments.

Over good food and conversation, we lost track of time only to be reminded of its passing with a Heart-shaped Cheesecake served with Chocolate Covered Strawberries. In the descending order of commercialised Valentine’s Day items, I forgave the dessert with every mm-mm and aa-ah. Which was expected. And there were a few ‘no-nos’ too – every time I refused to share my bit.