Claim Jumper

If God intended us to eat tofu, why did He make filet mignon?

Several of my friends are vegetarians. They all have different reasons for removing meat from their diet—religious convictions, health reasons, concerns about animal cruelty—and to a certain extent I can understand and appreciate all of these, even if I disagree.

But I draw the line of tolerance at "I just don't like the taste of meat." Yes, I know, there is no accounting for tastes—but honestly, think of the unmistakable savory aroma, the rich taste and buttery-smooth, almost silky texture of a perfectly-cooked medium rare filet mignon as it touches the palate. You might as well say you don't like sunshine, or laughter, or hot monkey love.

OK, perhaps I exaggerate. But only a little.

I feel justified in saying this because my husband and I have made numerous visits to the Claim Jumper Restaurant in Redmond, Washington. There I happily savored the aforementioned filet mignon—along with enough other delectables in portions so generous that I'm surprised the wait staff doesn't offer "roll-out service" to its satiated clientele, complete with cheery choruses of "Oompa-Loompa, doompity-doo..." Yes, I realize there are such things as doggie bags, but somewhere in the back of my subconscious my mom is still watching to make sure I clean my plate.

The first time we went, the Redmond Claim Jumper had only recently opened, and on most weekends the place was packed. Luckily we arrived around 3 o'clock, about halfway between lunch and dinnertime, and were seated immediately—quite a change from our first attempt, when we were given a wait time of one hour.

The dècor comes from the Early Theme Restaurant period—antique boots and gloves, whiskey barrels, deer-antler chandeliers, trophy heads, ceiling fans ostensibly run by belt-and-pulley systems, Tiffany-style lamps above the booths, and lots of wood and leaded glass detail. It's not as ritzy as the Plaza Hotel, but significantly more upscale than, say, Frontier Pies.

Frankly, though, we weren't there for the atmosphere. Our waitress, who was pleasant and attentive throughout the meal, brought us two oversized menus that barely fit into our small table.  She was prompt in bringing our drinks—real lemonade, cold and tart, with a sprig of mint. The huge menus offered plenty of variety—appetizers, salads and soups, sandwiches, chicken, ribs, pot pies, etc.—but as far as I'm concerned, the whole point of going to a steakhouse is to eat, well, STEAK. Hubby ordered a 12 oz. sirloin, medium rare, with a side of fresh melon, garlic cheese toast and onion rings; I opted for the 8 oz. filet mignon, also medium rare (why do people insist on burning their steaks?), with a side of mashed potatoes and crisp-fried onions.

We began with salads. Hubby had a Caesar salad which he reported as standard; I tried the beefsteak salad. This could have made a full meal in itself—thick rounds of beefsteak tomato and fresh mozzarella cheese, layered with thin slices of red onion, all topped with fresh chopped basil and coarsely cracked black pepper and drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette. The only complaint I had was that the beefsteak tomatoes were merely deep pink-ripe rather than dark red-ripe—but the flavors melded together perfectly.

Then came the entrées. I have already sung the praises of my filet mignon. Claim Jumper also offers a 12 oz. size, but considering how much food we were being served, it didn't make much sense to me to order an extra 4 oz. of meat for a significantly higher price. I had no complaints. The mashed potatoes and gravy were pleasantly lumpy, with bits of thin red skins; the crisp-fried onions were completely free of grease and tied together everything on the plate, melding with both the steak and the potatoes. I didn't need a drop of steak sauce, although hubby availed himself of the Worcestershire.

Our waitress, an optimist if ever there was one, came around with the dessert tray—featuring a slice of multi-layer chocolate cake about the size of a compact car—but by that point we were already groaning. I suppose some day we might bring a large group and order a single slice to share, but not that day.

On other occasions we've sampled the pot pies (huge and tasty), the Irish Nachos (a heart attack waiting to happen—but hey, you'll die happy), and other numptious selections.  We haven't yet had a disappointing experience ordering from the menu.

Before you go to Claim Jumper, you should know about how much it will cost. For the two of us, the entire experience cost a little over $50 before the tip (our waitress deserved—and got—a generous amount). However, considering the amount and quality of the food, I consider these prices to be wholly justified. I'm sure we'll be back.

Stand aside, tofu eaters, it's time for some rare meat!

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