Well-Aged

One of the big archaeological discoveries of 2005 was a food product. That’s right, a 4,000-year-old bowl of noodles turned up this year at a dig in China. At about the same time, a somewhat less momentous find was made in the lower level of the Plaza III steakhouse on the Country Club Plaza. While renovating the basement space this summer, a team of contractors uncovered a long-forgotten, sunken disco-dance floor.

The relic was from Biba’s, which had a brief but dazzling run as Kansas City’s version of Studio 54 at the height of the disco craze. My cynical friend Ned remembers the place having less dazzle than snobbery. “But it wasn’t like Studio 54, with Liza Minnelli and Halston and Bianca Jagger,” he says. “It was a bunch of aging Mission Hills swingers who were still doing the Lindy Hop.”

Joe Wilcox, the general manager of Plaza III for the past 15 years, missed out on shaking his groove thing on the sunken dance floor — by the time he moved to Kansas City in 1979, disco was dying and so was Biba’s. But he remembers the other theme nightclubs that came and went in the same basement space: Rio, Flashbacks, the Key Largo Surf Club and the City Light Jazz Club.

The City Light concept — named after a popular 1980s venue in Waldo — had even been his idea. “We had so many customers coming in asking for a jazz club, we thought we should have one,” Wilcox says. The problem with running a nightclub with a different name in the basement of the Plaza III restaurant, Wilcox discovered, was that customers were constantly confused. “They didn’t understand that the club was part of Plaza III and that we served food down there, too.”

Jazz musicians still perform on weekends in the subterranean space, which got a tasteful makeover in August. But it’s primarily an additional dining area to complement the upstairs rooms, which have not been redone since 1986. Customers don’t seem to mind those dated brass light fixtures and tiny bathrooms, though. Even with its beefy competition nearby — Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, the Capital Grille, and the new M&S Grill — Plaza III remains one of the busiest restaurants on the Plaza. And, bringing the subject back to history, at 42 years old, it’s the oldest dining establishment in the Plaza district.

“If you don’t count Topsy’s Popcorn,” Wilcox says. Well, I certainly don’t. But the longevity of Plaza III is one of the reasons why I was interested in returning to review the place. It has outlasted all of its competition from 1963; four decades of other eating joints have come and gone in the neighborhood.

What’s even more incredible is that Plaza III still sticks to the same basic approach established by its three founders. In its early days, the décor at Plaza III was vaguely Spanish, but the menu was all-American: shrimp cocktail, thick steaks, live Maine lobster and pecan pie. Plaza III was named for the team of Paul Robinson and Joe and Bill Gilbert, who shrewdly turned a loser location where three short-lived restaurants had failed into one of this city’s first fancy steakhouses. Before Plaza III, Kansas City steakhouses were mainly no-frills chophouses, such as the Golden Ox.

On a bitterly cold Sunday night, I blew into Plaza III with five frostbitten friends, including two vegetarians. In ’63, dinners started out with a chilled relish tray. They still do! When the server brought out an icy silver bowl laden with celery, carrot sticks and radishes, I did a double take. I can’t even remember the last time I visited a restaurant that still offered relish trays. In the good ol’ days, Plaza III also included soup and salad with the meals. That tradition, alas, went the way of the $1 shrimp cocktail and the $5.50 whole lobster (two attractions from the 1967 menu).

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Because I was paying the tab, I cringed when my friends ordered salads, now priced at $6.95, to accompany their meals. It’s a stiff price for a less-than-enthralling jumble of greens; even the Caesar was ho-hum. The appetizers are even costlier, but at least they’re more visually sumptuous: The steak tartare is piled on a curl of red cabbage, accessorized with dainty toast points, chopped egg, onion and capers. And the four plump crustaceans perched on the shrimp cocktail cost a lot more than a buck ($11.95, to be exact), but what the hell — I’m worth it.

Thank goodness for that relish tray, because my vegetarian friends Alan and Debbie had to console themselves with carrot sticks while David, Heather, Bob and I passed around the tartare and the restaurant’s signature steak soup. Not that we gave a damn. The soup is still one of the most comforting dishes on the menu, loaded with chunks of beef and vegetables in a soothing, thick stock.

The Plaza III menu, with only a few exceptions, has never changed. It’s heavy on the beef, with only a couple of seafood choices and one chicken dish. Debbie does eat fish, so she ordered the Atlantic salmon, which was terrific. Alan is a more stringent vegan, so rather than have him pick from the potatoes or grilled vegetables offered as side dishes, our server told us that the chef would happily custom-make a pasta dish for him. Alan was thrilled with the result, a big bowl of linguini noodles in a fresh tomato sauce heaped with zucchini, broccoli, onions, mushrooms and spinach. “I can’t believe they totally catered to my tastes,” he said.

I couldn’t, either, actually. But customer service is one of the reasons that people adore this place. The attention to detail is very impressive. So are the steaks, tender and juicy and perfectly grilled. Plaza III serves USDA Prime, wet-aged (vacuum-packed in polyethylene, permitting the meat’s own juices to age it) strips, porterhouses and T-bones.

“It’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” said Heather, who lustily enjoyed every bite of a filet mignon. She wouldn’t give me a taste, but I did snag a bite of David’s Kansas City strip and Bob’s marinated tenderloin brochette. Fantastic!

In the 1970s, Plaza III went through a brief French phase, and the only poultry dish was a béarnaise-drenched “chicken Rochambeau.” I prefer the less complicated bird on the current menu, a bodacious double breast grilled with butter and herbs. It’s shockingly succulent. The whole dinner just about did me in, but I got a second wind. The best things offered on the dessert list were a giant slab of chocolate truffle cake (which isn’t made in the Plaza III kitchen; it’s purchased from some food conglomerate) and a goblet of fresh berries layered with chocolate chips and whipped cream.

“This place is an institution,” said David, who hadn’t dined at the restaurant in decades. “I had forgotten how perfect everything is.”

Well, almost perfect. The bathrooms (which are scheduled for a long-overdue renovation in 2006) are practically primitive by Plaza standards. The serving staff at Plaza III are mostly longtime vets and are friendly and polished. But the unsmiling matrons at the hostess station are forbidding, to say the least. When I returned for lunch a few days later, I wasn’t sure if I was being escorted to a table … or the guillotine.

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But my neck was intact when I squeezed into a comfortable banquette in a quiet corner. A very quiet corner, which was lucky, because my dining companion was so filled with interesting gossip that she couldn’t finish her jade-green cream of asparagus soup or her salad. Fortunately, my fork and spoon were handy, and the salad and soup were delicious. And because I didn’t have to open my mouth to talk, I could leisurely and luxuriously savor every bite of the wonderful Plaza III meatloaf (a dish not offered on the dinner menu), which came sided with real mashed potatoes (with lumps, even) smothered in brown gravy.

The meatloaf and potatoes were comfort foods, of course, but there’s something warm and reassuring about the whole place. Perhaps because this restaurant has changed so little over the years, other patrons also find comfort in the familiar look of the place, the consistency of the menu and the quality of the service. Like any historical treasure, Plaza III is waiting to be discovered by a new generation of diners.