Close your eyes.
Now think about steak. As hard as you can.
Harder.
Okay, now open them...
And gaze upon the majesty of Strip by Strega, a new shrine to, yes, steak, but with more DJs and bourbon milk punch than you previously thought possible, now open in Back Bay.
This is from Nick Varano. Yes, that Nick Varano. You like that Nick Varano.
If the peak-era Rat Pack were going to open a casino but traveled to the future and built a steakhouse instead: this. Inside, it’s all sleek blacks and whites and marble and leather. On the walls: photos of Sinatra lighting a cigarette and Sophia Loren giving the side-eye seen ’round the world.
You’ll come here to close the big deals. The ones that require bone-in filets with truffle butter and remixed Motown from a black-marble-encased DJ booth.
You’ll come here for the dates that must start with Maine lobster gnocchi and must end with housemade Oreos topped with gold leaf.
You’ll come here for formal gatherings that demand bourbon milk punch and a private room enclosed by a 23-foot wooden wall activated by button switch.
Not exactly the Batcave, but close enough.
Now think about steak. As hard as you can.
Harder.
Okay, now open them...
And gaze upon the majesty of Strip by Strega, a new shrine to, yes, steak, but with more DJs and bourbon milk punch than you previously thought possible, now open in Back Bay.
This is from Nick Varano. Yes, that Nick Varano. You like that Nick Varano.
If the peak-era Rat Pack were going to open a casino but traveled to the future and built a steakhouse instead: this. Inside, it’s all sleek blacks and whites and marble and leather. On the walls: photos of Sinatra lighting a cigarette and Sophia Loren giving the side-eye seen ’round the world.
You’ll come here to close the big deals. The ones that require bone-in filets with truffle butter and remixed Motown from a black-marble-encased DJ booth.
You’ll come here for the dates that must start with Maine lobster gnocchi and must end with housemade Oreos topped with gold leaf.
You’ll come here for formal gatherings that demand bourbon milk punch and a private room enclosed by a 23-foot wooden wall activated by button switch.
Not exactly the Batcave, but close enough.
