Were we headed to dinner, or headed to run a municipal errand? Others may ask themselves the same question as they approach Post 1917, the newly opened steakhouse in Reading, which is housed in the city’s historic Post Office Building at 136 Haven Street. (The building, of course, no longer operates as a post office, but it did, for more than a century.)
These days, the high-ceilinged, 140-table space (there are 50 additional seats on the deck outside) possesses a dark and moody interior, with scalloped wallpaper, parquet floors, and tablecloths on tables. At the back of the dining room, a 35-seat bar—quartz, in case you were wondering—can accommodate drinkers or diners. The ambitious design concept is the work of J Richard Builders and Lori Haverty, wife of executive chef and owner Jason Carron; Haverty is responsible for the restaurant’s interior design.
Jason Carron is well known for his hospitality consulting firm, Avery Restaurant Consulting. As for Post 1917, it’s a traditional steakhouse in scope: ambitious cuts of (mostly) USDA prime Brandt beef, wet-aged for 28 days in-house, my server, Sebastian, told me. (The sole exception was the eight-ounce filet.)
We took Sebastian at his word, and his recommendations were spot-on. Case in point: a crab cake so overstuffed with colossal crab that I was astounded it stuck together in the pan. Was there any filler in there at all? I didn’t think so. The lobster sauce beneath it read like traditional Américaine, and that’s a compliment of the highest order.
I went off-script for the foie gras grilled cheese bites, an appetizer that mixed the liver into butter, along with brie, honey, Gruyere, and a berry jam—more of a fresh raspberry compote.
But you come to a steakhouse, of course, for steak, and Post 1917 does shine. Our two selections—bone-in filet, boneless 16-ounce rib-eye—were cooked perfectly (medium-rare, or, as Sebastian confirmed, “a cool, red center”). The steak was tender enough to cut with a butter knife, not that I tried. A flight of sauces included a roasted bone marrow butter (a delight), a peppercorn sauce (to me, an ideal execution for both cuts), a blue cheese butter (its flavor delicious), the Post steak house (lovely), and a tarragon-heavy Béarnaise (quintessential).
The restaurant offers 10 sides, some of which can be amplified further with the addition of lobster. Of these, we ordered four, including an exotic mushroom mix; a macaroni and cheese made with perfectly al dente, gluten-free mafaldine; a side of street corn that was bacon-studded; and a side that, to my mind, required the smoky accoutrements, Brussels sprouts with, yes, bacon. These were successful, delivering what steakhouses are meant to: a veritable forest of flavors and textures.
The point of a steakhouse, I’ve always thought, is to be a more charitable version of yourself, to share, to act like your pockets are as deep as the ocean where the largest lobsters and crab legs are sourced. Even if that’s a myth—an illusion—it’s where you live for the time that you’re there. It’s where I lived while sipping on a drink called “Diced Pineapples”: Espolon Blanco tequila infused with grilled pineapple and jalapeño, fee foam, lime juice, and mint, along with a rim of black lava salt.
The steakhouse experience—that was worth getting lost in. The steak itself was worth getting lost in. I’d like to get lost in that rib-eye over and over again. Send that bone marrow butter to my home in a trough. That crab cake truly could win awards, but the steaks, well, they were blue ribbon-worthy. And at a steakhouse, where the comfort comes in a superlative cut of meat, cooked well, and perhaps served beside an ice-cold martini (shame on me for not having one, which is always just enough), that may be exactly the right recipe for success.
136 Haven St., Reading, 781-942-0001, post1917.com