Fork and knife. Photo by Kelly S. Kurt
The Avalon Supper Club seemed to be where the sweetest of the herd went when they died, their loins no longer girded but trimmed, their flanks overrun, a butcher’s steel sticking out of their ribs, their bloodied parts laid out like tender spoils for the victor’s carnal tooth. Old Avalon was the final resting place for cattle cut down in their prime. It was so perfect a steak joint, in its throwback way, that to look upon the new Avalon was as sad as watching a star athlete come back too soon from an injury.