Prime rib has quite the reputation – Saturday night special, centerpiece of Christmas feasting, Midwest supper club classic, epitome of dietary indulgence.
It’s also, to many red meat eaters, the king of cuts, with a robust, marbled physique that contributes to its succulent texture and exceptional flavor. In technical terms, this bad boy is the “primal” section of a rib roast (specifically, ribs 6-12). It’s not something people cook at home much, outside of special occasions. And fewer restaurants specialize in it these days.
A natural question: What’s the state of prime rib?
It’s time to pick your Milwaukee favorites for the year!
In a December 2023 article, The New York Times linked prime rib’s popularity to economic growth. Consumption rose after World War II, and it represented luxury living up until the 1970s, when the price of beef started to rise. Since then, perhaps due to a combination of increasing prices and concerns about dietary risks, per capita red meat consumption has steadily declined. Still, if you look at the consumption of beef by region, it’s historically been higher in the Midwest (go figure).
If you want prime rib in Milwaukee, it’s here, but lurking in the shadows at middle-tier supper clubs. For instance, at the Milwaukee Steakhouse on Bluemound Road, it’s available Thursday and Saturday nights, three sizes but limited quantities, $55-$75. The Packing House on the South Side serves it Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday (two sizes, $53 and $57).
Downtown, there’s a veritable homage to it at 15-year-old Ward’s House of Prime. Owner Brian Ward thinks the 2020 closing of a 46-year-old Chicago prime rib mecca, Lawry’s, has brought in more out-of-towners. Has prime rib become more niche? Ward – who, growing up, remembers spots known all over town for prime rib, like Open Hearth and the Butler Inn – thinks it has.
How Saturday nights were claimed by this cut of meat isn’t completely clear. Food writer and historian Ken Albala theorizes it’s related to the Catholic tradition of fasting. After a Friday of fasting, “on Saturday nights, you’d feast,” says Albala. If prime rib has fallen out of favor, there are reasons beyond the cost of beef and the health concerns. “People are afraid of rare, raw, meat that’s going to give them botulism, they think, which makes no sense,” says Albala. “To them, a steak is very different.” To be fair, the red liquid that pools on the top of a rare slice of prime rib – and freaks some people out – isn’t blood. It’s a mixture of water and a protein found in muscle tissue.
One reason restaurants shy away from prime rib is it’s a production to make. Consider the one-night-a-week special. Restaurants buy huge, whole standing rib roasts that spend the day cooking, and when those slices are gone, diners are out of luck. Prime rib takes “basically eight hours to be ready,” Ward says. “It’s not like you can just throw another tenderloin on the grill.”
So prime rib’s appeal – like its availability – is limited. But all the interest these days in nostalgia may work in its favor. In the Wisconsin season of “Top Chef,” a supper club challenge required contestants to perfect a beef dish – after partaking of a Midwest tradition that was new to some of them: enormous juicy slabs of prime rib served with deep-brown au jus – not just a feast, but a feast for all times.
