The Butchers Club Deli (T-Bone Tuesdays)

The Butchers Club Deli (T-Bone Tuesdays)

Where:
The Butchers Club Deli
16/F, Shui Ki Industrial Building
18 Wong Chuk Hang Road
Aberdeen, Hong Kong

Phone:
+852 2884 0768 (lolz, they also list a fax number like their burger joint – HAY BUTCHERS CLUB, it’s no longer the 1980s, LET THE FUCK GO)

Price:
T-Bone Tuesday costs HKD750 per person, at the moment they also throw in a bottle of red per couple.  Just noise, white noise disclosure though – the Butchers Club Deli homies invited me so I got my complimentary nom on.

The deal:
Ms This is Bullshit and I got our rarefied Central asses into a taxi to go down to Wong Chuk Hang in the middle of a goddamn torrential downpour.  The taxi driver asked us “What type of building is it?”  “Industrial….aren’t they all Industrial in Wong Chuk Hang?!”.  Shit was getting real in the Hang, a maze of orange and white barricades, construction and blinking lights as Ms This is Bullshit gazed reflectively into the relentless rain, musing this was potentially her last moment of freedom before she was sold into white slavery.

We eventually found a street number and we found ourselves in an industrial goods lift and out of nowhere, was seemingly besieged by a group of very thin, rich looking HK peeps who did not look like they were in Wong Chuk Hang with the express purpose of smashing their body weight in T-bone steaks.  Fucking stereotypes I know, but that’s the vibe I was getting from big perms, skinny antennae like arms and so much gold and gemstones that I could barely mash the lift buttons accurately to the sixteenth floor.  It turns out they were there for the Butchers Club as well, except they were there for some HK celebrity’s event.

The Butchers Club Deli is in the Ed1tus (won’t lie, I fucking hate the 1 – Y not use i??) showroom – a 7,000 square foot space dedicated to men’s luxury clothes/lifestyle and Casa Capriz, a vintage homeware and furniture shop.  So if you ever wanted to eat your dinner in a polished concrete space, nestled between a rack of sparsely spaced out jackets, a multitude of pastel suede loafers and a stark antique, bare bulbed lamp, you’re in fucking luck – because on dining nights, they’ve got tables through the whole place.

T-Bone Tuesday involves four courses – an iceberg lettuce wedge salad, oysters rockefeller, the main event – Angus T-Bone steak and a slice of lemon meringue pie.  As it’s just started, they’re throwing in a bottle of red wine per couple.  That’s a pretty fucking punchy combination for a school night and I feel that the wedge salad is an attempt at being healthful before you eat yourself into oblivion.  Never mind that there are negligible health benefits of slathering lettuce with tasty as fuck Gorgonzola dressing and grilled thick cut maple-glazed bacon.  I was a bit fearful of the oysters rockefeller because I’m generally an oyster purist – I want those salty suckers fresh, raw with a squeeze of lemon juice only.  No red vinegar shallot or Thai influenced anything dressing please – why fucking mess with nature’s perfection and bake that shit? My fears were overblown though because that baked shit was all right – fuck yeah, dem motherfuckin’ garlicky breadcrumbs: breadcrumbs

So while lettuce and oysters are pretty fucking tasty we all know why we bothered making the trek to Aberdeen for and it’s for the main event – the chargrilled dry-aged Angus T-bone steak.  They roll out their handsome Aussie Chef in clearly what is HK’s Answer to Curtis Stone to show you the T-bone pre-grilling, before he gives you a Lifetime biography of the T-bone, letting us know that our cow had lived just outside of Brisbane, spent the first year of his life eating grass before he fell off the Paleo bandwagon, stopped the kipping pull ups at his local Crossfit box and then proceeded to gorge himself for 300 days on grains, building up fatty stores before his slaughter.  Ms This is Bullshit and I go for medium-rare (not my first choice cause I want my shit still mooing) and the T-bone is hand carved at your table and shared between two.

By this stage, Ms This is Bullshit and I were delirious with goddamn excitement, our iron levels soaring in anticipation. It’s served with a big fuck off cheesy baked potato and a side of mascarpone creamed spinach (lolz, as if you want vegetables that aren’t covered in some sort of cream).  The Butchers Club Deli have dry aged their Angus T-Bone for 60 days and in combination with the quality of the meat, this explains why shit isn’t cheap.  After 60 days of aging, the beef flavour is dialled the fuck up as it’s lost water and there’s some enzymatic/bacterial action going on.  I’d describe it as having a pretty fucking distinctive blue cheese and popcorn/nutty hint to it.  I don’t think this shit would work for people who complain that their meat is too “lamby”, “porky” or “gamey” but Ms This is Bullshit and I fucking loved this magnificent, aged, flavourful beefy bastard.

We both eyed off the giant t-bone with so much fucking meat left on it still and I went hands on.  I was trying to gnaw the shit out of it without smearing charcoal grilled grease down my cheek, given the unfortunate ergonomics of a T-bone.  Ms This is Bullshit was egging me on, pointing out that how much good meat was left on that bad boy as I attempted to avoid getting busted from getting my savage caveman on by the too fucking handsome HK’s Answer to Curtis Stone who seemed to always be on the dining room floor, rather than in the  kitchen where he belonged.  BAD NEWS – I totally got fucking busted. It’s a big fucking piece of meat and even though the two of us are solid nommers, we still had leftovers (pro tip – don’t be fucking shy, take that shit away with you so you can relive the glory for breakfast two days later).  Props to Ms This is Bullshit who was sensible and judicious in her decision not to smash up the baked potato in its entirety, giving her more capacity for dat glorious fuck yeah beef.  I regret my inability to Just Say No to Carbs – WILL I EVER FUCKING LEARN?

Our waiter asked whether we wanted to also take away our lemon meringue pie but we steeled ourselves, cause per FYN’s tagline you just have to put on your hard cunt pants and power through pudding.  We then watched two fucking huge slabs of lemon pie, bigger than my head, get served to the guys next to us.  “HOLY FUCK”  we exclaimed through shallow breaths.  However, when our “pie” came out, it looked remarkably different – an average sized circle of lemon filling with the meringue piped around the edge, with three forlorn, uneven pieces of pastry base smashed into the top.  A mint leaf was added for good measure.  I’ve watched enough Top Chef/Masterchef to know what a goddamn kitchen disaster looks like and we ruminated on what the potential kitchen issue had been (our top guesses being that perhaps whoever plated shouldn’t have served up a quarter of a pie to the previous guests or that the chef had dropped the pie, resulting in them having to smash together something quickly for judging).  As we put the spoon through the lemon curd, it went direct to the plate with a telling clink.  We bailed up the guys next to us “Did you have base under ALL of your pie??” which they confirmed that they’d had base for days.  We then watched a massive wedge of normal looking pie go uneaten from another table, go back to the kitchen.

PieGate 2014 continued until we were asked how everything was and I couldn’t keep it in anymore, bailing up the chefs to ask WTF was going on with our pie and ‘Where was our base??” which resulted in all of them going “GET NICK!!! LET’S GET HIM TO HEAR THE FEEDBACK!!!” and a very harried looking Pastry Chef arrived, sheepishly claiming it was more of a deconstructed lemon pie because it just hadn’t set.  Poor Nick, he was definitely having a fuck no night.  This is even better in retrospect because when you check out their website, he’s proudly holding aloft a very fuck yeah, normal looking well set lemon pie.

Lucky for him we came for the Butchers Club and not the Lemon Pie Club, cause otherwise the FYN verdict below would be different. Fuck me though, I’ve been fucking dreaming about fuck yeah, intense dry aged beef flavour all week.

Verdict:
Despite fuck no deconstructed disaster lemon tart times, fuck yeah on pay day T-bone times.  At HKD750 a person, shit isn’t cheap but the cost of procuring top quality beef and then aging it for sixty fucking days isn’t cheap either.

Sometimes shit isn’t cheap for a reason and yo Butchers Club, Imma comin’ back for your Rib Eye Steak + Frites times.

2 Comments
  • A Fuck Yeah Noms Review - The Butchers Club Steak Frites
    Posted at 08:03h, 08 January Reply

    […] broke at the end.  One of our homies wanted to try The Butchers Club Steak Frites and I’m a fuck yeah fan of their steaks so with the new, shiny, healthy new year intentions thrown to one side we made a booking here (yeah […]

  • A Fuck Yeah Noms Review - Zurriola
    Posted at 15:26h, 25 May Reply

    […] was previously the Head Chef at The Butchers Club and I’ve had his fuck yeah food before at The Butchers Club T-Bone Tuesday and Wellington Wednesday so I was pumped to see what his fine dining game […]

Fuck yeah or fuck no?

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