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Five stars. Because somebody back there is practicing witchcraft on a grill.
Some people move to Humboldt County for the redwoods. Others come for the rugged coastline.
I came to work for a nonprofit hospital, and before I'd even settled in, somebody was already preaching the gospel of the AA Bar's steaks.
During my orientation at Providence, back when it was associated with the Sisters of St. Joseph, a gentleman stood at the podium discussing the finer points of living in Eureka.
And one of his first recommendations?
"If you want a steak slapped on your plate after being slapped on a grill just the right way, you want the AA Bar."
Well, naturally, I decided I needed to investigate.
It took me TWO FUCKING YEARS to get there.
Two years of my life I will never get back.
Because, sweet baby Jesus, THAT MAN WAS RIGHT.
Now, Eureka isn't exactly the first place that comes to mind when you're imagining a world-class steak experience. And the AA isn't some fancy steakhouse with white tablecloths and a sommelier hovering over your shoulder.
It's a BAR.
A wonderful, unpretentious, slightly rough-around-the-edges bar populated by what I can only describe as corporate lumberjacks and retired Marlboro Men.
You know the type. Rugged, handsome, beautifully maintained beards. Like somebody took a lumberjack, cleaned him up, put him in a business suit, and told him to go have a whiskey.
It's practically a convention of Dos Equis commercial extras.
And somewhere in the back of this establishment, somebody is performing STRAIGHT-UP WITCHCRAFT ON A GRILL.
I order my ribeye medium rare.
And honey, THEY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT.
Beautifully cooked. Properly seasoned. That glorious, savory, slightly smoky flavor that makes you wonder what kind of ancient cowboy magic they've worked into that grill.
I've eaten steaks at expensive restaurants that couldn't outshine this place.
Somebody back there knows what the fuck they're doing.
Somebody put their FOOT in that shit.
They offer Gorgonzola butter on top, which I know some people adore. Personally, I can take it or leave it. The steak is so damn good it doesn't need any help.
But now we need to discuss my biggest problem with the AA.
The steak is the star, but the sides are making me question my ability to commit to a relationship.
Seriously.
The steak fries? BOMB.
The onion rings? DELIGHTFUL.
The loaded jacket potato? Yes, please. All the fixings, hold the bacon.
Mashed potatoes? Absolutely.
And every once in a while, they bring out these glorious little deep-fried triangles of macaroni and cheese.
Sometimes they're a touch dry, but most of the time? Bomb diggity.
I would order ALL OF IT if my wallet and stomach would cooperate.
At this point, I would like to formally petition the AA to introduce the "I Can't Make Up My Damn Mind Platter."
Give me one tiny loaded jacket potato, three or four steak fries, a handful of onion rings, and a couple of those fried macaroni-and-cheese triangles.
I'll pay for it.
HAPPILY.
Throw in a salad so I can pretend I'm making responsible adult decisions.
And let's talk about the atmosphere.
There's something wonderfully Cheers-like about the AA. Go often enough, and people know your name.
It's a proper neighborhood bar. A place where you can settle in, have a drink, enjoy the company, and eat a steak that has absolutely no business being that spectacular.
It's not polished perfection. It's something better.
It's character.
It's comfort.
It's a little bit of Eureka wrapped around a damn fine piece of beef.
I can't afford to eat here nearly as often as I'd like, but believe me, if I could, I'd be a regular fixture.
And that gentleman who recommended the AA during my hospital orientation all those years ago?
Sir, wherever you are, I owe you an apology.
You told me where to find one of the best steaks I've ever eaten, and I wasted two years ignoring you.
FIVE STARS.
For the steaks. For the sides. For the corporate lumberjacks. For the grill that apparently possesses supernatural powers.
And for reminding me that sometimes the best food isn't hiding behind an expensive menu or a fancy dining room.
Sometimes it's sitting in a neighborhood bar in Eureka, California, waiting for somebody to slap it on your plate.
AA, you've got one hell of a stank on that grill.
And I mean that as the highest possible compliment.