Gridskipper

Frank Bruni is a gay, a fact that has little bearing on his taste (ok, none) but a lot on his recent review of Robert's Steakhouse at the Penthouse Executive Club. The review, in which Bruni bestows a gold star on Chef Adam Perry Lang's menu, is a useful primer for why gays shouldn't be allowed in straight strip clubs. As a rule, and one I've closely observed, embarrassment for all parties is inevitable. One feels repulsed and the other feels mocked. But you gotta admit, it makes irresistible copy.

After the jump, Frank Bruni is repulsed by the human form, realizes strippers can't spell and makes musical theater references.

It may be laughable when someone says he gets Penthouse magazine for the articles. It's no joke when I say I went to the Penthouse Executive Club for the steaks...

We were strangers to such pulchritudinous territory, less susceptible to the scenery than other men might be, more aroused by the side dishes than the sideshow: underdressed, overexposed young women in the vestibule, by the coat check, at the top of the red-carpeted stairs up to the restaurant, on the stage that many of the restaurant's tables overlook.

A beautiful woman claimed the plush armchair opposite mine. She introduced herself. I wasn't sure I'd heard her name correctly.
"Mahogany?" I said.
"Yes," she purred.
I was getting my bearings. "Mahogany," I asked, "do you know where you're going to?"

[W]hen one of her sorority sisters sidled up to us to pose a question not commonly uttered in fine-dining establishments — "Is there anyone I can get naked for?" — the response was silence. On this visit to Robert's and on subsequent ones, I was derelict in my duty, failing to sample much of what the restaurant had to offer.
But the beef, I devoured — breathlessly, ecstatically.

[GS: And finally, the most awkward moment] The most unusual dessert [is] called a buttery nipple, and it involves one of the women straddling your lap, tilting your head back, pouring a combination of Baileys Irish Cream and butterscotch schnapps down your throat, and squirting Reddi-wip into your mouth. It costs $20 in cash.

And thus, ladies and gents, incontrovertible evidence that while strip clubs and steaks do mix, strippers and gays just shouldn't.

Where Only the Salads Are Well Dressed [NYT]
Bruni Betting: Robert's Steakhouse [Eater]

Previously: Some Secrets Are Better Left Undivulged and Undigested, Bohos in Paradise: The Bowery Hotel is Open for Bidness, Loside Diner Closed: One Small Step for Hell Square, One Giant Step for Mankind, Gridskipper's The First Bite Is the Sweetest: Morandi