In many ways, Perry's is just another steakhouse. The steakhouse formula has been perfected for so long in the Dallas restaurant crucible that it seems any competent restaurateur can sleepwalk through the execution. Perry's dubs itself a classic Dallas dinner house, which could mean several things, from Black-eyed Pea to garish French-continental.
Stephen P. Karlisch
Amber lighting and padded booths make Perry's a good place for an after-dinner nap.
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214-871-9991. Open for dinner 4:30 p.m.-10:30 p.m. Monday-Thursday; open 4:30 p.m.-11:30 p.m. Friday & Saturday. $$-$$$
Mussels: $8
Mushroom soup: $6
Beef tips: $8
Rotisserie chicken: $16
Ahi tuna steak: $28
New York strip (12-ounce): $27
Lamb chops: $25
Apple pie: $7
Fudge cake: $6
2911 Routh St
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Securing firm footing in the steakhouse genre, Perry's has the dark wood paneling, the low light, the central chandelier and the bar with cigars and single malts. It has sides of asparagus, creamed spinach and potatoes that can be had in four different versions--baked, mashed, fried and au gratin.
Yet it's just a little bit different, maybe even eccentric, if you look hard enough. There is no brass in the place, or at least not much. In addition to the typical roster of steaks and chops, Perry's offers a prime Southern-fried rib eye. You might think it's weird to have something like this on a menu that calls green beans haricot verts, but frying prime steaks is getting to be trendy. I just hope they don't start boiling them.
Perry's also offers beef tips as an appetizer, which is strange for a restaurant whose name doesn't rhyme with "rubies." Roasted in a brandy-peppercorn sauce, the tips come in a little boat surrounded by crisp Parmesan crostini. These tips are tender and rich accompanied by a sauce that is clean and smooth with a flavor that didn't cloud the taste of the meat.
Perry's booths have high backs that are finished in chocolate-brown leather set off with fabric. The backs are arched at the top, and the padding and leather treatment are carried over to the wall. If they would have put a leather top over it, Perry's could have created the world's first padded dining cell. Rows of booths are on raised carpeted platforms that flank the central dining room. This long space is handsome in that steakhouse sort of way that makes you wish you had a smoking jacket and an ascot. Yet somehow the dining room manages to skirt the overt masculinity that tends to tease away the appetite before the iceberg lettuce salad arrives. With an arched ceiling and a hardwood floor, the long room resembles a subway tube, albeit one with attractive chandeliers instead of dirty lightbulbs.
Perry's exudes refined elegance with a corner staircase at Routh and Cedar Springs leading up to columns holding up the awning. There are lights imbedded in the stone floor of the entryway before you reach the huge wooden doors. Big juicy steaks almost always seem to call for big, dark woods. There are even a few wine bottles scattered here and there for display.
Unlike some steakhouses where things can seem overdone, Perry's is understated. You can feel the richness of the ambiance, but it doesn't knock you over the head with garish elegance. It also has a few things that no other steakhouses have. For example, there are jars of green olives on every table and a tiny fork you can use to harpoon them. It would have been a nice touch to include a spittoon or an ashtray, as olive pits are hard to get out of your inside jacket pocket after a few days. Perry's also has this little wine-cork bulletin board near the bathrooms along with a note pad and a writing instrument so you can write little notes to people just finishing up in the bathroom.
The steaks mimic this quirky elegance, though not the quirks. The 12-ounce New York strip was tender and chewy without being grisly and fatty. Its graininess was distinct and forward--pure meaty pleasure. It was served with a moist baked potato the size of a wrecking ball that was dressed at the table with a choice of sour cream, butter, scallions, bacon bits and cheese.
Seafood is equal to the red meat. Maybe that's because in this case, it is red meat. Ahi tuna steak, marinated in wasabi soy and dressed with an orange ginger sauce, was silky and rich. This meat was barely kissed by heat, which means the center was a thick red band with a thin sliver of taupe on the top and bottom--and this was the second version. Perry's servers ask you to cut into your meat when it's delivered while they hover over you to make sure it's done to your specifications. This is a difficult task in Perry's amber dim, one that could be eased with a miner's helmet.
Anyway, the first versions of both the steer and fish steaks were closer to dingy well-done than rosy-red jiggle. Once we informed our server that the meats were not done to our specifications a whole orchestration of obsequiousness was set into motion, including rounds of apologies from various servers, a visit from a manager, the removal of a baked potato that was half eaten and replaced with a new one and various offers to comp certain elements of our dining experience. We held out for a year's worth of free dinners for members of our immediately family and ended up with a dessert sampler.
