Every steak here lives or dies on one number. Grab a ribeye, hold it over the coals, and pull it at your temperature — then book the table and we'll fire the real one exactly the same.
We break whole primals in-house and dry-age them in the case you can see from the bar. Weights are pre-sear; everything comes with bone-marrow butter and a temperature we'll actually hit.
Our beef comes from two family ranches in northern Arizona and the Colorado high country — pasture-raised, never rushed. Whole primals hang in our glass-front locker at 34°F and 82% humidity, losing water and gaining flavor for four to six weeks.
By day forty a ribeye has given up nearly a third of its weight and picked up the nutty, almost blue-cheese depth you can't fake with a marinade. Then our butcher trims the bark, breaks it to size, and it never sees anything but salt, fire, and butter.
Forty-two seats around an open coal hearth in a 1940s Old Town brick warehouse. Oxblood leather booths, brass rail, a butcher's case up front and a back bar stacked with American whiskey. You'll smell it before you see it.
The chef's counter — eight stools facing the fire — is the best seat in Scottsdale and the hardest to get. The private Locker Room seats twelve beside the aging case for the kind of dinner that ends in a handshake.
Dinner only, six nights a week. Walk-ins take their chances at the bar; the counter and the booths book out fast.