Council Oak

Council Steak House at the Hard Rock: A Night of High Hopes and Low Notes

Walking into the Council Oak Steak House at the Hard Rock, I felt a familiar flicker of anticipation—the kind that comes when an open kitchen hums with energy and the air is thick with the scent of seared meats and possibilities. The place had all the makings of a memorable evening. Unfortunately, memories aren’t always made for the right reasons.

We started with the Dry-Aged Meatballs, stewed tomato sauce, and Parmesan cheese. They arrived looking like they’d barely survived a rough journey from kitchen to plate—loosely formed, as if the chef couldn’t be bothered to finish the job. The taste? More meatloaf than meatball, lounging lazily in a tomato sauce that whispered “Ragu” rather than shouting “homemade.” It’s a sad day when a classic comfort food feels like a reheated afterthought.

Next up was the Ember-Roasted Beet Salad with goat cheese, smoked figs, and hazelnut crumble. The server mentioned it was meant for sharing, so we planned to do just that. Yet, when it arrived, it was placed squarely in front of me with no extra plate in sight. Sharing a salad off one plate isn’t exactly the romantic gesture I had in mind. That said, the salad itself was a bright spot—the smoked figs and hazelnut crumble added unexpected layers that played well with the earthiness of the beets. A delightful dish hampered by a lack of foresight.

We moved on to the sauces: Béarnaise and Gorgonzola Mornay. The Béarnaise was serviceable, but the Gorgonzola Mornay was an exercise in overindulgence—a heavy-handed symphony of blue cheese that drowned out any nuance. Subtlety, it seems, had left the building.

The sides told a similar tale. Buttermilk Whipped Potatoes with Black Truffle Jus sounded like a decadent dream. Instead, the potatoes were so devoid of flavor they could have been a blank canvas. The oversalted truffle jus didn’t save them; it merely masked their blandness with a salty slap to the palate.

The Garlic Parmesan Broccolini promised a punch but delivered a whisper. Garlic confit, Parmesan Reggiano, garlic oil—all ingredients that should sing together. Yet, as soon as each bite was swallowed, the experience evaporated, leaving no trace behind. Forgettable is an understatement.

Dessert arrived in the form of a Banana Fritter with dipping jam. Finally, a dish that almost hit the mark. The fritter was crispy, the jam a sweet delight. But where was the banana? The flavor was so faint it felt like a rumor.

Service throughout the evening was a rollercoaster. Manager Patrick was undeniably friendly—a storyteller eager to share tales of wineries visited and cats adored. But three visits to our table during a dinner date felt intrusive. I appreciate hospitality, but there’s a fine line between attentive and overbearing.

Chef Adam made an appearance, kindly explaining the menu, and Manager Jonny checked in as well. Their enthusiasm was noted. However, the team failed to mention that they were out of both the octopus and the brown butter hash browns—dishes we had eagerly anticipated. Learning this only after attempting to order was a letdown that could have been easily avoided. And the specials? Never heard about them.

The open kitchen concept is a double-edged sword. It offers transparency but also exposes the sausage-making, so to speak. Watching the chef repeatedly stab steaks with a thermometer was less culinary theater and more horror show. Each plunge seemed to drain the life out of the meat, and despite this carnage, our steak arrived at the wrong temperature. I prefer my steak medium-rare, not perforated.

I wanted to like Council Steak House—truly. The staff’s warmth and the restaurant’s ambiance set the stage for something special. But dining is about more than good intentions. It’s about execution, attention to detail, and the little things that add up to a great experience.

In the end, Council Steak House feels like a band with all the right instruments but no sense of harmony. The potential is there, lurking beneath the missteps and missed opportunities. With a bit more focus and a commitment to refining their craft, they might just find their rhythm. Until then, it’s a place of high hopes met with a reality that falls short.