A plate full of heart attack

Driving up to Sacramento this evening, to be ready to play at 9 am with Micky, we stopped for dinner at The Cattleman, in Dixon.

They built this place 40 years ago–I remember it because I applied for a job as a bartender.  Made it to the second interview and some basic training, but then lost out to a woman who wanted to tend bar as a step up from dancing nude in a dive beer bar across the freeway.  I probably wasn’t very good as a barkeep, anyway.

Even without my dubious talents, the restaurant has flourished these 2 score years, with a basic formula of good food, reasonable prices, huge portions, fast service and relentless upselling of appetizers and desserts.


We managed to avoid the up sell, and ordered dinner.  All entrees come with a salad–they bring a huge bowl to the table and you serve yourself.  Nothing fancy, just lettuce, cucumber, carrots, onions, tiny tomatoes, croutons and a pitcher of dressing.

A great rib eye, topped with onion rings and accompanied by a baked tater.


I don’t eat much beef, my cardiologist likes it that way.  But the only fish on the menu was salmon from a farm, and Gail, who outranks the cardiologist, won’t let me eat farmed fish.  So I had the rib eye–not always the tenderest cut but generally the tastiest.

Just to make sure that I got my quote of saturated fats, the rib eye comes topped with onion rings.  Then there is the baked potato, with butter and sour cream.  If I’m going off the wagon, I’m going all the way.

An entire bread plate worth of some kind of parsley. Why?

The plate was dressed with the above mountain of parsley.  Does anybody eat that stuff?

Gail had the filet, and being the careful and healthy sort had broccoli instead of potatoes.  They gave her a massive pile of very good lightly steamed veggies; I was impressed.

The bill for all of this, plus a glass of white wine and an iced tea,  was $56.  That’s hard to beat.

I wouldn’t want to shock my heart like that every day, but one a year or so it’s fun to just eat like there was no such thing as coronary disease, and The Cattleman is a darned good place to do it.


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