Dimly lighted with brown, cowhide booths and white tablecloths, the dining room at The Grill on the Alley somewhat betrays it’s youthfulness – it has been around for only 10 years – but rest assured, the crowded “lounge” area with its awkward seating reminds you quickly that it is just that, young.  And if the tragically hip and trendy hotel lobby of the Westin adjacent to the lounge didn’t tip you off, then perhaps you were too enamored by the mixed bag of folks – some there for business, some looking for business and some just there.  In any regard, The Grill on the Alley does its best to welcome you and make you forget the tragic scenery that you were forced to walk through as you stroll down the long, beautifully lit hallway with a not so bad looking hostess waiting for you.

Right off the bat, it is important to note that The Grill on the Alley has not, and will not, become an institution of steak in Chicago based on its menu, regardless of how big, fat and well-cut the steaks are, or by way of the never-ending, well-chosen wine list (not that i can truly attest to the latter), but if it does, it will be because of its staff.  They are the type that you think of when it comes to old-fashioned, personalized service.  From the young man that waited on the table and tried his best to remember our orders, to the very truly man of the hour, the 82 year old Manfred…what a delight!  Manfred, alone, is worth the price of admission.  In fact, he was so well-received that I happen to know on personal knowledge that at least two of us tried (and crashed) to re-tell his jokes.  I’m not sure if they were the dirty or the really dirty ones, but still.

Alas, if only we could have buttered up our Austrian friend (or at least put him in the back room in place of the potato guy) I could attempt to claim that the meal was worth it.  The steaks were beautifully cut, and most came grilled to order.  However, the one thing that continued to dominate the conversation was just how awful the sides were.  I would argue that we sometimes spend too much time dillydallying with the sides on these special nights, but this time my brethren got it right.  The sides were just too bad to ignore.

Could the deserts save them?  The group’s old staple, the key lime pie, was very good, but may have finally met its match with the fudge brownie pie laying in the cut for the birthday boy of the month, and proud sproutpa to be.

Speaking of which, another strong showing from Rick, but sadly he becomes the group’s reverse Zenyatta – with his losing streak intact  and almost a lock to go on for his umpteenth loss in a row (maybe no. 20?), Rick made a strong push with the Austrian (and the rest of the group, if not solely for the laughs) willing him on to lose, he was beat out by a nose – it just wasn’t in the cards.  I’d say the same regarding The Grill on the Alley, especially when the witty, white-haired Austrian isn’t there to help you forget everything but the cut.

Donald A. Cole

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