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| - Listen, people: maybe it was waiting until 11:15 PM to be seated, maybe it was the ear-splitting music which forced us to use our other senses, maybe it was purely hunger delirium -- but it was the best steak and sides we've ever had.
None of that means anything. It's such a low number of stars to give for such a great meal, expertly served. It means that everything else that STK allowed to happen that night negated any strong points they earned.
While waiting for a table, we were witness to such a mind-blowingly disgusting display that it prompted a very serious discussion of our group giving up our reservation altogether, going to In-N-Out Burger (no pun intended), and calling it a night.
At the table next to us was a man who had obviously called an escort service, had them send a couple of "workers" to meet him at STK, and the three of them gave us a floor show of french kissing, gyrating, miming fellatio and cunnilingus, and general dry-humping, that it's a miracle we could keep our steaks down. Management came over (without us even saying anything -- obviously others were bothered, too) and had terse words with the man, which culled the trio's amorous activities -- temporarily, It was only a matter of minutes until they resumed their table-side menage-a-trois. When they finally left (like the slow fade of a Viagra commercial), our party came to a realization: we were actually *surrounded* by other couples who were very obviously the products of a "business transaction" as opposed to.....actual dates. Gorgeous African-American young beauty in skin-tight scuba dress un-zippered to the navel seated with nebbish nerd, to cite an example.
You bet we're in Vegas. Anything goes. And we're fully up for that. But when the conduct of certain patrons supersedes the comfort of others ponying up significant sums for their Wagyu beef, or the management at STK does not see the slippery slope of cheerfully opening their doors as a clubhouse for the sex trade, they might as well change the theme to Thai Ping-Pong Bar and be done with it. (or -- as it was suggested by some in the party -- change the name to "STD"?) Hepatitis (or worse?) on the forks is a legitimate but secondary concern: how about the group of us simply wanting to enjoy a glorious steak at midnight served by a wait staff who really knows their stuff without having to be witness to a Hustler Letter to the Editor in the making?
Stop the Ho's at the door. For the love of Christ, turn down the music. Now you've really got something.
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