October 21, 2018 By bangkok7
Actually, that’s not accurate. Turns out there’s more to The Steakhouse Co. than just fantastic steak. Hi. I’m Seven, and I try to live the dream for you, in case you can’t for whatever reason. And today I want to get something off my chest. Greetings from Patpong again, it’s me Seven. Let’s talk.
When owner Andy told me he was shutting the doors to Electric Blue Patpong, the best gogo bar in Bangkok, I was crushed. EB had been my home-away-from-Silom apartment for 5 years, and the thought of no longer lounging in those blue seats, a lovely girl on either side of me, a boob in each hand, and a cider over ice, caused no small amount of despair. But since the venue’s re-emergence as The Steakhouse Co., I’ve found a way to cope. Wait, “cope” isn’t the right word. I’ve made peace with the loss of EB, replaced it with the Steakhouse in my heart and mind, and even discovered that The Steakhouse provides something that’s been missing from my life since moving here. Through its transition from gogo to restaurant, I’ve found my way back to wine. Cue The Spinner’s classic, with a burnin’ love inside.
One of the only things I miss about California is the wine. In the near decade I’ve spent living in the greatest country on Earth, one of the few downsides to this bliss has been the dearth of good wine and the obscene price of what little there is. So I compensated for the lack of access to that sweet elixir by burying my head in the bosoms of EB dancers, and all was right with the world. But then it closed, and I was lost. Many of my best gal pals had come from there. EB girls had a different energy from the ones in other gogos. They were friendlier, more easy-going, more fun, and generally speaking, more beautiful. It was like banging babes in a barrel, old EB was. A place of fun, frivolity, and fabulous fannies (If any Americans read this, ‘fanny’ is a British term for vajay). A Shangri la for shameless shaggers, and I’m a proud one of those. And if I’m honest, I held a grudge against Andy for closing it down. Like, a Morrissey vs. former Smiths bandmates-level grudge. I wasn’t sure if I could ever forgive him.
Fast forward to last night. It was my fourth in a row at The Steakhouse, and fourth Cuban cigar plus wine. That’s right. No food, just the sweet kiss of tobacco paired with the even sweeter embrace of God’s ambrosia, both happily provided by the good folks at The Steakhouse. On the 3rd night, it dawned on me that what I’d been missing since moving here—namely, the rapturous coition of brain and wine—had been dropped into my lap, in the heart of my stomping grounds, and I had Andy to thank for it.
Earlier in the week, I was in for a beer and their Oktoberfest discounts, and whilst sipping an Old Fred at the bar, I overheard Andy talking with his manager, Alex—a Frenchman who knows wine like the back of his hand and loves it almost has covetously as I do. Andy was telling Alex that he wanted to offer more (and better) wines by the glass. My ears perked up, of course. This is the kind of life turn that, while seeming small in the moment, could change everything. It turns out Andy’s as particular about his wine list as he is the quality and class of the steaks he serves. They talked price point. They talked steak pairing. And finally, they settled on a Cabernet, a Claret, a Syrah, a Malbec, and a Primitivo. Bravissimo. Hallelujah, the saints come marching in. For years, I dreamed of two things: good wine in Patpong, and Cuban cigars in Patpong. And here they were. Andy had supplied them both.
The next day I was on the terrace with a Partagas from The Steakhouse humidor and a glass of the Cab. As I finished off the last drop, Alex appeared with the Syrah and asked if I wanted to try it. But of course. A Syrah-Grenache blend, to be more precise. It was very good—complex, refined, subtle. It’ll go better with food, obviously. Then I had the Malbec, which paired nicely with the cigar. And that’s when it hit me. I can have my steak and eat it, too. I can Cuban-and-wine at the start of the night, and then mosey down the Pong visiting all my favorite gogo dancers in all my favorite bars, plus indulge with prime rib and carvery on the weekends. In other words, my life was finally complete. There was nothing else to want. Nothing else to wish for. Nothing else lacking, no sense of the impalpable. Not anymore.
All thanks to Andy. So I forgive him for taking away my gogo, because he replaced it with the missing piece to the puzzle of my life. Here’s to The Steakhouse Co., their staff, their menu, their wine list, their humidor, and their terrace. Cheers to them, and cheers to another day above ground in the greatest city in the world.
If you’re lucky enough to get here, be sure to drop by The Steakhouse Co. for exceptional dining, fantastic wine, and Cubans, if you’re into that sort of thing. And for something a bit racier, you can always head up the soi and gogo hop afterwards. But if you can’t get here right now, you can try living vicariously through my Twitter and tumblr blog (both are to the right of this article) or browse the photo archive on my FB. Until next time friends, cheers to another day above ground in the greatest country in the world–Thailand.