North 40 Chophouse — Restaurant in North Platte

North 40 is a shining star in an otherwise culinary destitute small town. I had an opportunity to speak with the head chef and provided very nitpicky critiques, which were very well received. The quality of the ingredients is extraordinary given the restaurant’s geographical location. The diver Montauk scallops were exceptionally seared. Albeit, the sauce treatment is a bit of identity crisis between the beurre blanc and poblano sauce the scallops are the shining star. The orange reduction didn’t quite add the acidic value to elevate the prawn, but nonetheless well cooked, well seasoned. The gratin was the most balanced seasoning of the three sides - I could go as far as saying there was a taste too much salt, but I’m a salty eater and for me they were perfect. The white pepper wasn’t overpowering, but you knew it was there and that was a nice treat if you know what you’re tasting. The middle of the gratin was too al dente, it could not be cut with a fork, but the perimeter of the ceramic dish was absolutely perfect. The potato was the shiny star - as it should be. The 8 ounce filet was near perfect rare. These are not sous vide steaks and salamander broiled at 800 degrees and you can tastes that unmistakable sear. The beef is local Nebraska and wet aged which just adds that extra awesomeness. The crème brûlée did not appear to me to be brûléed a la minute, the sugar was cold and the ramekin rim was cold, but the chef assured me that it is in fact brûléed a la minute and I believe him. The berry compote does indeed come from the refrigerator when applied to the dish and it was unexpectedly cold - room temperature would have just given it one more notch. The custard was perfect. Given the color the egg to cream to ratio is on the egg side and that’s ideal. The custard is the winner here…

Note to management. I realize this is a small town, but staff migrating to the bar after hours for a drink and or food is poor optics and creates an ambience which borders on too friendly. Chit chat between of duty and on duty staff should be avoided in the presence of patrons. I was there for a good two hours and the general manager never left the bar. That’s not to insulate he was imbibing, but nonetheless it’s poor form.

The staff should be properly educated on the provenance of the food. Where did it come from? Why should I be excited about it? My server didn’t know that the beef was local for example. At this price point I would expect a server or bartender to rarely go into the kitchen to ask a question from a diner. This happened on least three occasions when I asked questions. Hosting kitchen and front of house knowledge sessions would very simply elevate the dining experience which would also empower the staff to “sell” the merits of the dishes based on sourcing and preparation. This is an easy to do.

Oh, I did sample the crab and Brie bisque. I didn’t order a full portion of it. The bisque itself was of crab of unknown origin until I asked where the crab came from. “Bluecrab from the gulf”… There were various bits of onion, I think I spotted some celery and what I believe to be jalapeño chunks in it as well. The bisque has good intentions, but lacks that seafood umami punch; I didn’t taste any sherry and it generally felt like a soup to me. Cheese and seafood are hard to pull off which is why the Italians forbid it. We could save the expense on the “gulf crab” and dial in an amazing French onion topped with Gruyère and the fans would go wild. Use the bones from the steak chops and build an extraordinary stock layered with a crouton and brûléed Gruyère garnished with chive and no one will remember that the bisque was eighty-sixed (see what I did there)!

This is a gem. I worry about the local financial support to sustain the quality of the ingredients. Trim the menu in times of need and stick to higher quality fewer things as we enter an economic downturn. I hope to have an even better experience on my next visit. Thank you, Team!

5/5 for North Platte. 4/5 if in an MSA 1 million...

Unfortunately, this restaurant is trying to be Gordan Ramsay but is more on par with Outback Steakhouse. The only reason I'm giving two stars instead of one star is because the restaurant has a nice ambiance and is well-decorated and they have a Basque Txakolina rosé on the menu. The steaks are not bad, but they are also not worth the money this restaurant is charging. For the price, you would expect both exceptional quality in both the food and service, but, unfortunately, both fell short. Let's go over all of the things that were wrong with our dinner:

The staff profiled my family as soon as we walked in. The waitress was mean-mugging us and even made a comment "be sure to lock the door" to another staff member when my son and I went to use the restroom, as if we were going to dine and dash. Not that we were planning to steal your steak, but let's not pretend it's even worth stealing. The waitress suddenly changed her whole demeanor when my wife made the comment that we had just returned from the Basque Country and toured the vineyard that produces the rosé that is on the menu. Suddenly the wait staff had a magical epiphany that we weren't the dine and dashing riff raff and it was all smiles and free muffins after that. Completely unprofessional and unacceptable.

The restaurant was not able to cook any steaks at the right temperature for our meal. First, for whatever reason, they were not able to cook a $55+ rare prime rib. I was informed the best they could do is medium rare. Real prime rib is meant to be cooked rare, so if you can't do that, take it off your menu because you are incapable of making prime rib, especially at that price point. I changed my order to a ribeye and requested medium rare and ended up getting well done. My wife ordered her filet mignon medium and ended up getting the entire steak cooked inconsistently. Parts were burnt and too well done while others were rare and she got a range of every doneness level in between throughout the rest of the steak. All the mashed potatoes served were dry and overcooked. Again, the prices do not reflect the quality of the product and should be substantially lower for what is delivered.

My son ordered the chicken strips on the kids' menu and they were dry and way overcooked.

The mixed drinks at the bar are decent, but not worth the price. A $14 old fashioned should at least taste like it has some bourbon in it.

While the restaurant is so worried about me and my family being "trashy", some actual trash came into the restaurant and were treated way better. Two older gentlemen came in with their wives. Their wives went outside for a bit and they loudly and shamelessly started hitting on a group of young women sitting at the table next to them while disparaging their wives. The girls were clearly uncomfortable, but the men persisted to creep on them until their wives came back. Stay classy Nebraska.

Overall, the quality in food and service does not warrant the price. I would highly recommend either increasing your standards to meet the price being charged or lower the prices to reflect the current quality. The value is...

In the swirling, electric haze of a Nebraska night, where the plains stretch like a canvas of forgotten dreams, I careened into the North 40 Chophouse—a temple of decadence masquerading as a steakhouse, a place where the air hums with the pulse of excess and the ghosts of carnivorous gods. This wasn’t dinner; this was a descent into a fevered, meat-soaked vision, a collision of high art and low-down gluttony, and I was strapped in for the ride. The wedge salad hit the table like a guillotine, a crisp, icy slab of lettuce so brazenly simple it felt like a dare. Smothered in blue cheese dressing thick as motor oil, studded with bacon shards that crunched like gravel under tires, and drizzled with a balsamic reduction that sang of dark, forbidden sweetness—this wasn’t a salad, it was a manifesto. Each bite was a cold, creamy middle finger to the kale-eating puritans of the world, a reminder that sometimes the old ways, the indulgent ways, are the only ways worth living. Then came the gourmet cheeseburger, a beast so unholy it could make a vegan priest renounce his vows. This was no mere patty; it was a half-pound hymn to hedonism, charred to perfection, oozing with molten cheddar that clung to the brioche bun like a lover who won’t let go. Topped with caramelized onions that whispered of slow, smoky seduction and a secret sauce that tasted like the devil’s own recipe, it was a burger that demanded surrender. I took one bite and saw stars—maybe God, maybe just the reflection of the piano bar’s lights in my whiskey glass. Either way, I was converted. And the piano bar—sweet merciful chaos, the piano bar! A lone maestro pounded the keys like a madman, conjuring Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” with a fervor that felt like a séance, then veering into Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind” with a swagger that could’ve set the room on fire. The notes swirled around us, a sonic tornado of nostalgia and bravado, while the crowd howled and swayed like drunks at a revival. It wasn’t just music; it was a pulse, a heartbeat, a reason to keep living in this wild, spinning world. Jayzee and Haylee, the servers—good God, what creatures of glorious mayhem! They didn’t just serve; they performed, darting through the chaos with a flare for the wild, eyes gleaming like they were in on some cosmic joke. Jayzee slung plates with the precision of a blackjack dealer, tossing off one-liners that cut like a switchblade. Haylee, with a grin that could charm a rattlesnake, poured whiskey like it was holy water, her every move a dance of controlled anarchy. They weren’t just waitstaff; they were ringmasters of this culinary circus, and I was happy to be their clown. Five stars? Hell, give North 40 Chophouse the whole damn galaxy. The wedge salad is a revelation, the gourmet cheeseburger a revolution, and the piano bar a riot of soul and sound. Jayzee and Haylee are the high priestesses of this meat-fueled madness, and I left that place staggering, sated, and half in love with the whole damn mess. North 40 isn’t a restaurant—it’s a fever dream, a wild ride through the heart of American excess, and I’m already...