The first annual A&E beef-off

It may not be P.C., but it certainly is American. We sent three A&E writers out onto the streets of New Haven to see what kind of beef this fine quasi-metropolis has to offer, and here's what they came back with:

Kate Blofson at Charlie B's

We're at Charlie B's Steakhouse because I am the beef queen. Actually that's just something I like to say about myself. I won't lie and say I know anything about beef. Actually, that would not be true. I know nothing about beef, a consequence of my being a vegetarian from ages eight to 18. However, as part of my quest to be a red-blooded American--which also included a dark and difficult two-year conversion to mayonnaise and Coke--it dawned on me that I would have to start liking beef at some point. And I also really love ketchup, and I figured that putting ketchup on not-dogs, nature burgers, and lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches is just not the same thing as putting it on a nice chunk of hot beef.

LIZ OLINER/YH Charlie B's serves a fine hunk o'beef, but according to our distinguished panel of critics, there is definitely room for improvement.

The first bit of meat I had in 10 years was fittingly in Texas at 10 in the morning at Joe's Burger near Galveston, Tex. It was a Mile-High Double Secret Joe Burger covered with Joe's special sauce, and I tell you it was one larry burger. We all know that Texas is the reason, but Galveston is definitely not a cool place, so after the burger we left and went to Key West, Fla. and had conch combines and gator fritters, which were also pretty tasty. Anyway, the point is that even though I started eating meat, I haven't actually yet worked up to steak. There was still that sort of block on actually eating steak because there is absolutely no soy product that attempts to imitate steak.

At the steakhouse, my roommate, Andrea, takes care of the business because I don't know chuck from flank and as Irma S. and Marion Rombauer say in The Joy of Cooking, "When a novice approaches the meat counter, she may also approach a state of panic." She orders me filet mignon and a petite sirloin strip prepared medium rare for herself, and the waiter says that mine comes with a brandy sauce--is that okay? Sure, I say. When the steak comes, I can't help but think it looks like the heart of a midget cow and I feel like I'm in the Temple of Doom, which makes me a little bit nervous. But then I remember how it has brandy sauce on it and as I'm a girl who likes her liquor, I dig in.

Now, I don't know too much about beef and even less about steak. But I do know that Irma S. and Marion say that filet mignon is supposed to be the most tender, choicest cut of beef and this does not seem very tender or choice to me. I look to Andrea who tastes it and agrees that it could be a lot better. But it's still pretty good and it's doused in butter and liquor--two of my favorite food groups--so I finish it off, although when I get to the middle it seems a bit bloody to me. Andrea says that in France it would be considered overdone. That's all well and good for the French, I say, but why they would want to eat raw beef is a mystery to me. All in all I suppose that my experience with steak was pretty good, although I felt pretty bad when the waiter came to take our plates away and called us pigs ("You ladies certainly did justice to those dinners, didn't you?"). Now if the Herald wants to have a Pork-Off next week, or if anyone cares to know, Charlie B's does have All-You-Can-Eat-Ribs Monday through Friday evenings, but I'm not much into swine myself.

Jason Heller at The Yankee Doodle

Smaller than most Yale rooms, the Doodle is not just a Yale institution. It's part of The Yale Experience. The site of the absurd tradition of the Doodle Challenge, which has produced a lot more vomit than winners, the Doodle has more than enough of that 1950s charm to go along with its heart-stopping culinary offerings.

But the burgers are indeed wonders of this world. They melt--maybe in your hand, maybe in your mouth, but definitely all over the place. The thinly-sliced, griddle-cooked Doodle patties are served up on a toasted bun crawling with wads o' butter, and a mystery salsa-like sauce on the side.

Done just right, with a bit of ketchup and mustard and a dab of the secret salsa, the Doodle burger is an oozing delight from the second the surly-but-friendly staff tosses it in front of you. The burgers have a tendency to fall apart in your hands while the butter and other condiments are leaking all over, but from the looks of the perpetually-packed counter, no one seems to mind.

They're small burgers, and have that can't-eat-just-one quality to them. At $1.60, they're not as cheap as potato chips, but they're not exactly expensive either. For the true red meat addict, this is the place. I give it an A-.

Jason Heller (yet again) at The Educated Burgher

With that several-decades-old blue front that dominates Broadway, the Burgher exudes an old-school charm, especially with the faux books lining the walls--educated, get it?

Where the Doodle is a bit diner-esque, the Burgher is an all-out greasepit. Though they have a far larger menu than the Doodle, the Burgher's centerpiece is still, well, the burger. There's no disguising the fact that this joint is for real.

The grilled quarter pound patties come with a heap of shredded lettuce and a fresh tomato. At least twice as big as the Doodle burger, the Burgher makes 'em extra juicy. The taste is bigger and tougher than the Doodle, and they give you that July 4th backyard barbecue satisfied feeling (sans annoying relatives who tell you how much you've grown), but they just don't have the addictive quality of the Doodle.

Even though you're technically getting more for your money than the Doodle--the Burghers are twice as big and cost $2.09--that special taste just isn't there. They're good, really good, but they're lacking the Doodle's genius for invention. But even without the quirks and perks that keep the Educated Burgher from being a top-of-the-line expanding-your-waistline red meatery, it'll do for a tasty slab of beef. I give it a B.

Gordy Rogers at Louis' Lunch As far as this Yalie is concerned, the only other Yale students exempt from knowing about and going to Crown Street's Louis' Lunch are cretinous social basket-cases and freshmen. The distinction, as we all know, can often be a bit fuzzy. Whoever happens to be missing out on the Louis' experience must get there as soon as possible. Those of us who have been there know that Louis' claims to be and probably is the birthplace of the hamburger. We also know that ketchup is an unconditionally outlawed condiment.

But, I'd like to address one aspect of the Louis' burger and venture a theory as to why certain people who manage and own the establishment look the way they do. The founder of my Mecca, my mosque of meat, Louis Lassen, is proudly presented high on one wall of Louis'. His face is gaunt but mild, his cheeks are small and flat, his hair is straight and dark. Louis' grandson, Ken, the proprietor and spiritual leader of this temple filled with delectable icons looks almost exactly like his grandfather, the founder of our church of Cheez-whiz. (He spent two years with the Army in what is now Pakistan and speaks Urdu. Whoa!)

Now we turn to one of the more general, well-known and perhaps valid rule of genetics, that genes skip a generation (Louis' son bears no resemblance to his father). Louis' is also known for serving the leanest, highest quality beef which they lovingly sizzle up in their vertical hearths with their 1898 patents. I propose that the realization of this apparent genetic truth within the Lassen family is due to the purity and quality of the beef. So, if you want your grandchildren to look like you, go to Louis' Lunch.

Top graphic courtesy Canadian Beef Industries, bottom graphic courtesy The Joy of Cooking

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