Certainly not in this review.
Minus the beef on which Perry Lang justly prides himself, a lavish dinner at APL doesn’t hold in the center. This came into sharp focus during an unfortunate experience in late January, when I happened to dine at the restaurant on a night its broiler system had gone down; the only steak available was a filet mignon. An attempt to rally only highlighted the weak spots: a gloppy and disjointed Caesar salad, a crab cake that seemed meager, dull branzino in lemon brown butter looking lost on its enormous plate, fine enough pasta pomodoro, an odd take on a pear crisp in which the fruit comes half-cooked in skin-on chunks. The sides, all nice enough, needed the beefy centerpieces to feel like an event. The filet, for me, didn’t measure up to its dry-aged counterparts.
You hated the steak but liked the fries and peppers.