Fleming’s, like Morton’s, is one of those chain steak houses that costs an arm, a leg, and the leg of an additional human being from somewhere in southeast Asia.
Every time a menu is opened at Fleming’s, a hippie gets anemia.
Also like Morton’s, they serve a damn good steak. Higher-end steak houses don’t serve meat for people who enjoy an occasional slab of flesh, they serve it for people who eat meat for the simple fact that something had to die to get it on their plate. Every time a menu is opened at Fleming’s, a hippie gets anemia. If someone orders a steak rare, a PETA member slams into a deer on Tamiami Trail. This is the universe at work, people.
I came to this place when a client treated us consultants to dinner for a job well done. If you’re familiar with consultants, you know that by “job well done” I really mean “didn’t actually do anything but collected thousands of dollars anyway.” I love America. The other two consultants either don’t like things that are awesome or lack the functional genitalia to order whatever they want when an old guy with a lot of money and a gargantuan veneer grin on his face says it’s his treat. They both had the salmon which when presented to them looked like a fourth grade art project. They also had water. When they ordered their water I wanted to play it off like that Sam Adams commercial, so I asked for it anticipating them to switch their choices after the old man gave me a hearty pat on the back and ordered a brew as well. Instead, the wonder twins kept to their dihydrogen monoxide and the old man ordered scotch. Whenever an older gentleman with a full white beard orders scotch I get knocked down a peg and reminded that I’m just a young punk with a lot of stress wrinkles to acquire yet.
What old man with white facial hair wouldn’t order scotch?
I had the filet mignon, medium well. Medium well is the perfect way to eat a steak. If you eat it well done, you probably enjoy a bowl of charcoal for breakfast. If you eat it rare, even Jeffery Dahmer would’ve found you disgusting. Medium rare means you’re a Nazi sympathizer, and medium is reserved for republicans because they love to devour things that are brown on the outside but bleed red blood like everyone else.
Their filet mignon was excellent. When they bring it out to you they also give you your virginity back so the steak can escort you to a high school janitor’s closet and take it right back. Along with the steak I had a Chilean cabernet sauvignon. When you add the cabernet into the mix, it’s like having the steak kiss you while it does its thing to you in the closet. Their wine selection is impressive, so if you don’t feel like being kissed in that closet by Chilean lips, you can make them American, Argentine, French, Spanish, or Italian just as easily.
All of this was topped off with a crème brûlée for dessert. The old man had his third scotch, what a champ, he’s like 5’3″ with the alcohol tolerance of a Tennessee State linebacker that just ate a loaf of bread. The crème brûlée was great, but to be honest I was still recovering from the steak’s stranglehold on my taste buds. The crème brûlée was like having the steak tell you it would call you the next day. Sweet, but something you’ll probably regret later.
This place is great if you don’t mind paying what amounts to them putting the cow you’re about to eat on a first class plane ticket from Uruguay so they can slaughter it for you in the kitchen.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 2525 Ponce De Leon Blvd
- Coral Gables, FL 33134
- (305) 569-7995