Morton’s

Morton’s: You Never Forget Your First Love

Morton’s and I go way, way, way back. We are talking about fifteen -seventeen years.

My teacher awaits me.
My teacher awaits me.

When I first started making a little money in my mid-twenties ($800 a week, whoo hoo!), I knew basically nothing about food. All I knew was that I loved steak, I worshiped fried potato and mac and cheese made me horny. I was also drawn to that the steakhouse vibe of dark wood, leather booths and Rat Pack cool in the air. It made me feel like I had come into my own. A boy turned man. That’s where I chose to spend my precious few extra dollars.

When I could.

Morton’s, though she did not take my cherry, was my first love. (Gallahger’s in mid-town Manhattan has that honor. TMI?)

Admittedly, I dated The Palm for a little while and I did spend the night over at Ruth’s Chris once and ok yeah I fucked Fleming’s a couple of times, but I never cared for her. Not like Morton’s.

Morton’s was my first true teacher in the art of making moo, and she was the one who taught me what steak positions I enjoyed the most. I learned that I preferred the ‘Strip’ over the ‘Filet’. I realized I liked to hit the ‘Rib-Eye’ when I was feeling kinky and the ‘Porterhouse’ just did not get me off. And I always, always like to ‘bone-in’.

Yes, many life lessons were learned under her guidance. I cultivated an appreciation for wine and discovered that it not only got ya buzzed but it complimented your food. She taught me the soufflé for two was a panty dropper. And that a well crafted blue cheese olive martini does indeed solve most problems. She was gracious and charming and made me palate wiser, more curious, raising me into the steakhouse enthusiast that I am today.

Sadly, as the years went by, the curiosity that she bore grew beyond her control and I flew from her nest, seeing her less and less as I continued my journey of discovery.

In doing so, I have encountered much more exciting and exotic lovers from France, Japan and Argentina.

They lifted their skirt steaks in public and fucked the ever lovin’ Wagyu out of me, the crazy little frittes that they are, and my Morton’s slowly faded away into the distance.

But you cannot forget you first love.

As much as you would like to move on altogether your subconscious never let’s you forget how good she was to you and you know you will one day return, and when you do it’s in the hope that she is still able to arouse you like she did a hundred times before.

This was what went through my brain when I passed through those wooden doors.

Now, I’d like to say she did …get me off, that is. I want to tell you the spark was still there. That I felt butterflies in my stomach and a tingling sensation on my lips when we reunited, but alas it was just a really nice… talk?

So, want have you been up too?
So, what have you been up too?

She’s still smart. Still funny and charming. But her flame doesn’t burn as bright as it once did. Her scent, her essence, diluted just enough to notice.

I don’t know if it’s her new pimp and he’s got her shopping at cheaper stores, or worse got her hooked on bad product, but she isn’t the same girl I knew.

She’s hanging out with the wrong happy hour crowd and has gone from Sinatra to Bieber.

She was bragging to me about her “power hour” discounted items and her new seafood combinations when she never had to sell me on her goods before. The menu more likened to a Denny’s now than a matured, traditional steakhouse; which was her selling point back in the day.

It was a little sad, actually.

She still tastes good though in the area that matters the most, I will give her that, but she charges 15-20% more for her services than she did before and it’s not like she tastes better, so it was hard to even give her that.

The question is…

Will I return?

Yeah.

Why would I return, you ask?

Good question.

It won’t be tomorrow, and probably not any time soon as there are plenty of places that let me drop $200 on a meal, but I am a romantic.

She was really good to me once, and like the boy in The Giving Tree I suspect I will always come back.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Do The Math +