After holding on to this gift card for about six months, Chad and I finally commit to a date and make a reservation. I’m a modest kind of girl and Beverly Hills is a part of town I venture to on very few occasions, so even $200 of free steak required some extra convincing.
After the cocktail, we make our way over to Mastro’s. The first thing I notice when we step inside is how tiny the bar is. Maybe there are bars on the other floors of the restaurant because I can’t imagine four bar stools accommodating everyone, especially because there is nowhere else to sit when you’re waiting to be escorted to your table. I order the “Lemon Ginger Smash”…it tastes like Irish Spring and is so enormous that it ends up being the only cocktail I order.
The highly-acclaimed butter cake reminded me of a crustier, oilier version of a boxed yellow cake. It's not that bomb, don't order it.
The whole way home, we scratch our heads wondering why people dish out that much money for food. Mastros...expensive, and then you poop it out.