One could argue that the steak house genre is overdone in our beef-happy valley, but perhaps that is not true in the neighborhoods, which are ruled by family-oriented chains such as Outback and Lone Star. I recently visited one of the true independents, Becker's Steakhouse, which opened on the northwest side of town a few months ago. Does it fill a niche? Yes—and no.
One thing that makes this restaurant distinctive is its adults-only cast. The sign on the door tells us that "No One Under 18 Admitted," and, indeed, the florid décor, highlighted by a series of decorative paintings by Laguna Beach artist Victor Ostrovsky, is more like a supper club from a '40s film noir movie set than anything we'd call postmodern. So, for that niche, it stands alone, especially on this side of town.
But in terms of what you will eat here, the steaks, though hand-cut USDA Prime, are a tad less polished that what you might get at Strip venues such as Craftsteak or Prime, and furthermore, they don't have the flavor of beef that has been aged a long time. For the steak purist, Becker's may be a touch of an underachiever, despite obvious compensation.
The main dining room has a piano bar and is furnished with semicircular black leather booths, the kind you'd see Lana Turner or Humphrey Bogart filling in movies based on novels by Raymond Chandler. Evenings, there is live jazz, a singer of the female persuasion reclining on the Steinway and lots of martinis poured at the bar.
Furthermore, it's always dimly lit in here, even at breakfast, when the restaurant serves a fairly creative menu—a classic chili relleno stuffed with a bacon and onion omelet, for example. How about a steak for breakfast? A 10-ounce rib eye with eggs should fill the bill.
The restaurant belongs to Bruce Becker, well-known for his association with Arizona Charlie's. Chef Brett Chumley, a young Vegas native, mans the grill and old pro Perry Bruno, formerly of Prime in the Bellagio, runs the front of the house. It adds up to a polished, and pleasant, operation.
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Becker obviously intended to create a retro Vegas steakhouse, and he's achieved one. I recommend a table in the Wine Room, a smaller dining room where wine is stored. Cheryl Goodwin, a sommelier who doubles as a server, can riff on her creative wine list, which features two dozen wines by the glass; the list is extensive, mostly American and fairly priced. Goodwin knows her stuff, so let her rip.
Before you get to wine, though, this place fairly screams for martinis, and the martini menu is a hoot. Try the Steak House Cosmo, made with Grey Goose L'Orange vodka, Grand Marnier and a blend of cranberry and fresh lime juice, or the clever house martini, the Becker, notable for using pomegranate juice and Hypnotiq, as exotic a blend as I've seen lately.
The chef wanted us to start with a chilled seafood platter, but we opted for crab claws and shrimp scampi. The claws were a tad watery, but the scampi was amazing, in a retro-style pink garlic sauce. I mopped it up greedily with the house olive bread.
The Caesar could have used more muscle in the dressing—perhaps a few more anchovies or more pungent mustard. For those who yearn for the glory years of retro American dining, oysters Rockefeller, perfectly baked with spinach and Hollandaise, should suffice.
Steaks are served with a choice of sauces such as Bearnaise, peppercorn and soy, all skillfully made in the kitchen. The best cut I tried here was the 12-ounce filet mignon; my New York strip wasn't as aggressively meaty as I would have liked, and the 22-ounce rib eye chop not as tender.
On the side, there are six potato choices, the best of which might be the massive baked potato. For vegetables, try the creamed corn, in a huge casserole, or grilled asparagus, best when daubed with some of that good Bearnaise.
Whiskey bread pudding is rich, and there is always the option to have fresh berries, topped with whipped cream made in-house, or the more exotic hazelnut cream Anglaise, cooking-school fluff that actually works.
After midnight, the place features stand-up fare like steak and skins, or steamed artichokes, and a grizzled crowd that probably isn't using baby-sitters.