By RICHARD DAVID CHAMBERLAIN
A funny thing happened on the way to J. Alexander’s—the outlet of the chain restaurant that’s been a fixture on Federal Highway for decades. My houseguest, who apparently is a J. Alexander’s aficionado of sorts, had just traveled into town from Tennessee, where the restaurant has its corporate headquarters and where he had “the worst piece of prime rib that ever once grazed.”
I heard this tale of his disenfranchised taste buds at least three times before I finally offered to take him to our local branch, hoping that he might find succor for his continuing disappointment.
Admittedly, we approached the place on a Saturday night—a time when J. Alexander’s normally is SRO. Perhaps it was the “hurt-puppy” look on his face, but we were seated immediately upon entering.
Having eaten in this particular establishment with some regularity over the years, I knew the drill and kept pace as my guest dismissed a glance at the menu and ordered a drink (Manhattan, no rocks, double cherry), an appetizer (fire-grilled artichoke with herb butter rémoulade) and an entrée (the aforementioned slow-roasted prime rib with smashed potatoes).
I rallied with tap water (plenty of ice), a bowl of soup (chicken pasta), and a veggie burger (made in-house and topped with Monterey jack cheese)—all ordered as one long sentence. My houseguest was not about to get one up on me.
He had downed his Manhattan and ordered another in the ten-minutes it took for his artichoke to arrive—long enough apparently for the liquor to set in and his voice to rise just loud enough to be heard several booths away.
Fortunately, it was praise he was spouting, as he dipped the delicate artichoke leaves into the rémoulade and smiled as he savored the succulent flavor.
He barely had time to wipe the butter from his lips, when a second server, new to the table, delivered my burger and what appeared to be half a cow drizzled with au jus—so big was his prime rib. Any suspicions that he may have harbored disappeared as his knife cut through the healthy portion of beef like the proverbial warm butter.
I would like to say that he immediately hailed “Hallelujah” upon first bite, but such was not the case. In fact, he said nothing until he had consumed nearly three-quarters of the serving—which, you may remember, was large enough to feed four mortal men. Only then did he push his plate away from his expanding stomach and said, “Now that’s prime rib.” This was a good thing.

For the record, my veggie burger was as moist and flavorful as it usually is, with my side order of string fries perfectly crisp and seasoned as if from a Tex-Mex ranch house. So too the soup, which was far too generous in size to consume.
The prime rib is priced at $26, which was a bargain compared to the pricey $12 artichoke appetizer. The homemade veggie burger runs $12 as well, with the bowl of soup adding another $6 to our tally- -which, I’m happy to report, my houseguest paid when yet a third server delivered it to the table. Not however before my guest ordered a “small taste” of Key Lime pie ($8), muttering something that sounded like “well this is Florida, after all,” under his breath.
When he finally slid from the booth, doggie bag in hand, he turned to look at the open-beam ceiling and attractive art hanging along one brick wall. “Now this is everything J. Alexander’s should be,” he said. Tell them Guy Magazine said so.
J. Alexander’s
2415 N Federal Hgwy
Fort Lauderdale, FL
954-563-9077