"It's a glorified breakfast steak," a friend and fan of The Cattle Ranch said of the Cowgirl. The 16-ounce T-Bone steak, shown here with a broccoli side, comes with bread, applesauce and an additional side for $25. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
“Should we just sit anywhere?” I asked the woman behind the bar.
There was no host in the windowless, wood-paneled wonder that is The Cattle Ranch. Just twinkly lights and taxidermy and a Tiffany-style pendant light emblazoned with the Michelob logo, straight outta your uncle’s basement man cave of the 1970s.
OK, she didn’t actually say that. But it’s how I scripted the cutaway in my mind’s eye, where 2022 evaporated and Hopper from “Stranger Things” Season 1 materialized, wearing his sheriff’s uniform and eating alone, a can of Schlitz and a bottle of Country Bob’s All Purpose Sauce on the table.
From the wood paneling to the Michelob pendant lamp, The Cattle Ranch is gloriously evocative of that suburban steakhouse your parents or grandparents frequented in the late '70s and early '80s. And possibly the bar your uncle had in his basement. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
He would be seated in a booth, natch, one where countless Sanford residents have been clogging their arteries since 1984. That’s when this venerable, old steakhouse opened its doors per my friendly waitress. And that’s where it sits, stuck in time, not unlike the packets of Buttery Margarine Spread they serve with the bread here.
“It’s what you’d think a steakhouse in suburban Milwaukee would be like in 1978,” says Mike Smith, Sanford resident and chef/owner of The Current Seafood Counter, a popular stall in the markedly trendier enclave of Henry’s Depot.
[ Stellar in Sanford, The Current Seafood Counter is going with the flow | Review ]
His place is part of Sanford’s new wave of eateries. But he’s been a fan and a regular at The Cattle Ranch for the entire decade he’s lived here. In fact, Smith organizes “man nights” here on the reg, giving his married buds an excuse to get out of the house, for bonding and belching and bro stuff, presumably.
Eight-dollar pours of Maker’s Mark that Smith estimates would run $25 anywhere else — the Basin bar at Henry’s Depot likely included — don’t hurt.
The Cattle Ranch sign alone is an alluring throwback. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
And so, as downtown Sanford continues its steady renaissance into a fashionable, fest-driven district — it seemed high time to pay homage to the venerable old joints that transport folks like Smith and me back to our formative years, strike a retro, wall-phone chord with the Millennial and Gen Z tribes and remain places where folks like the gent who strolled in to a bartender’s greeting of “There he is!” can continue to enjoy sudsy $2.50 mugs of domestic in a place that’s as fond and familiar as his BarcaLounger back home.
I ordered “the Cowgirl,” a 16-ounce T-bone steak that comes with bread, applesauce and two sides for $25. It’s Smith’s usual order, too. Since his doctor advised against the 32-ounce Porterhouse dinner they call “the Cowboy,” anyway.
“Glorified breakfast steaks,” is how another hospitality-pro pal of mine described the cuts on The Cattle Ranch roster. He loves the Ranch, too, by the way.
“When I moved here,” Smith told me, “it seemed like there were two groups of people — one liked The Cattle Ranch, the other Colorado’s.”
Grilled chicken sandwich with fries and the ubiquitous ramekin of applesauce at The Cattle Ranch. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
Smith ended up in the Ranch camp, as is my other friend, as smitten as us all by the vibe, the staff (our server was a sweet-as-pie rock star) and yes, even the food, which sometimes comes with squeeze-packet condiments. Sour cream for the loaded Buck Skins — skin-on potato wedges topped with cheese and bacon, Smith’s usual app — and Sysco mayo for the grilled chicken sandwich, which my daughter had on our visit.
Another friend, also a notable gourmand, is a Colorado’s girl. This being Colorado’s Prime Steak, a similarly nostalgic venue that’s equally woodsy, but less rough around the edges. Here you’ll find formidable bound menus and higher ceilings, but you still might hear Mötley Crüe playing at lunch. I did.
Cup o' French onion soup at Colorado's Prime Steak. On point. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
“It’s our guilty pleasure,” she told me. She and her daughter go at least once a month. “The steak is not prime, but it’s always well-seasoned and cooked to temp. And the veggies taste fresh.”
She likes the full, well-priced bar, too.
This is The Cattle Ranch's upmarket cousin. They play Aerosmith and Mötley Crüe at lunch. I am not only here for this, I'd go back for it. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
I met my Ranch fan of a pal here for a spread. Salad for him (entirely comparable to that of The Cattle Ranch, but served on a glass plate instead of melamine; croutons may still have been from a box, but fancier and a cup of onion soup I’d order again for me ($5.29). I fought the temptation for what I’m certain would have been a very strong highball.
Our server — who had two six-tops, plus us, and was also working the bar, was gracious and, for her immersion in the weeds, not all that slow — recommended the Dark Horse Saloon steak sandwich ($15.99), which my companion ordered. (A serious note, people: Be kind to waitstaff and restaurant folks in general, it is tough out here and they are trying!)
Server recommendation: the Dark Horse Saloon sandwich ($15.99). Named for the landmark Boulder bar that opened in the mid '70s. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
The sandwich is a monster, to be sure, a rib-eye steak nestled into thick, sourdough Texas Toast with caramelized onions inside and melted cheeses on top (use a knife and fork). He liked it, as did I, but we’d both skip the sweet, sherry-heavy onions next time. I wanted to go T-bone for T-bone, but they were out. And the smoked prime rib Colorado’s is known for wasn’t ready, and so I went rib-eye, too.
The 12-ounce cut ($24.99) was, as my friend predicted, perfectly cooked and a bit thicker than my Cattle Ranch Cowgirl. The mixed veggie side, however, was even softer than the broccoli I’d enjoyed back at the Ranch. This didn’t bug me a bit — my grandmother’s penchant for over-steaming vegetables has made this a guilty pleasure for me — but I figure it’s worth noting.
The 12-ounce rib-eye at Colorado's Prime Steak was well-seasoned and cooked to a perfect medium rare. For $25, you get two sides along with. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
Out on Lake Monroe, with a patio that couldn’t be any nicer for enjoying the gorgeous weekend weather, St Johns River Steak & Seafood offers up sloshing 9-ounce pours of wine and a menu that in places seems mired in 1991, but I am an unabashed fan of baked, stuffed grouper ($32), a standard order for me at similar joints when I’m in the Keys. Not to mention frog legs with a choice of three preparations ($13). We went blackened and were pleased.
You don't find frog legs on the menu just anywhere. At St Johns River Steak & Seafood, you can get 'em fried, pan-seared or as we did, blackened. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
Both fish and frog were fine though the 16-ounce rib-eye, ordered medium-rare, came out blue. Preferable to overdone, we ate it just the same (my bud that night was a rare-steak guy anyway).
I have to give a quick shout out to the mac-and-cheese side, because frankly, the vast majority of mac I try is disappointing. My Tennessee-bred dining partner feels much the same. Probably more intensely.
"Stuffed fish! Super old school!" my gourmand friend texted when I told her of my St Johns foray into baked, stuffed grouper. (Amy Drew Thompson / Orlando Sentinel)
It was penne (I have another Southern pal who balks at anything not-elbow), and there was sharp flavor. And creaminess. And a nicely browned top and edge. We dug it.
I would visit any of these three places again. The latter, like many of its regulars, for that view and the formers for that vibe. In fact, as I close this thing up on a Friday, I’m thinking I might head back to The Cattle Ranch, as the only cocktail touted under the Full Liquor Bar heading on its paper menu (with written-in prices) is the Long Island Iced Tea ($10).
I dined with a Tennessee native on my evening at St Johns Steak & Seafood. This mac-and-cheese was Southerner-approved. (Amy Drew Thompson / Courtesy photo)
I didn’t drink on my visit, but inquired, as I found its noteworthiness intriguing.
“Is it good?” I asked.
“It is!” she said. “Especially when Gil makes it.”
Gil works on Fridays. I better get this thing filed.
Want to reach out? Find me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram @amydroo or on the OSFoodie Instagram account @orlando.foodie. Email: amthompson@orlandosentinel.com. For more fun, join the Let’s Eat, Orlando Facebook group or follow @fun.things.orlando on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.