The pork chop I ate yesterday at All Stars Men’s Club was bittersweet – not taste-wise, but because once I put my fork into it, I knew I was putting a fork into The Spread.

Those of you who read my review of Solid Platinum will be familiar with my explanation, which is: in order to write a strip-club buffet review where the only joke is that you’re treating it like a legitimate restaurant review, the reader must assume that the review took place in the midst of strippers, because it’s only the complete ignoring of said strippers that (hopefully) makes it funny. But what do you do when, in the case of Solid Platinum, there are actually no strippers onsite? Or, in the case of All Stars, there was one stripper during a 45-minute block?

All right, I have to apologize up front to regular readers of The Spread (all four of you) because I have to break character. I figured there might unfortunately be a time where this was necessary, but I didn’t expect it would happen so quickly. But I just returned from Solid Platinum (2732 W. T. C. Jester Blvd) and I feel I would be doing a public disservice if I just didn’t tell it straight.

The Spread is a one-joke column, though (we think) a pretty funny one, that relies on the absurd notion that dudes really give a rat’s ass about strip club buffets. Who cares about food when you get to see some boobs during lunch, even if the boobs are not-ready-for-prime-time? The whole point in not mentioning strippers in the reviews is that the reader of course knows that there are strippers present, they’re just not being acknowledged. But is it fair to the reader to perpetuate that joke when the reviewer goes to a strip club where there are no strippers?
Let me back up.

I was excited about checking out Solid Platinum because its non-Galleria location suggested an independent spirit, something different than the cookie-cutter Westheimer establishments. I was even looking forward to making a few nods to the classic 1980s show “Solid Gold.”

It’s probably a misdemeanor to say this, but I’m pretty sure the ribs at the Penthouse Club were the best I’ve had in Houston.

Perhaps it was a fluke; my dining companions found the meat somewhat dry – could I have gotten the only two perfect specimens in the batch? Could be. But I prefer to think they don’t know what they’re talking about – after all, do they have big-time jobs reviewing buffets?

Located at 2618 Winrock, just off Westheimer, in the tangle of stoplights and strip malls west of the Galleria, the Penthouse Club can be difficult to get to, but there is ample parking. And the ambiance is both upscale and relaxed – we dined under warmly lit glass chandeliers, and, if conversation turned dull, there were a series of flat-screen TV’s hanging above the bar, set to different stations so as to appeal to as much of the clientele as possible.

Walking through the metal detector at Treasures, I wondered how the buffet would stack up against the gold standard that is Golden Corral. Things got off to a good start when an attractive young woman at the hostess’s stand said I had a nice profile – that kinda thing almost never happens at Golden Corral!

A very personable waitress led me into the main dining area, which was surprisingly sparse, given that it was lunchtime. She asked where I wanted to sit, and I found a nice spot in a plush, high-backed booth by the TV, where I looked forward to catching up on All My Children. I asked for a Lone Star, only to strike out – Treasures doesn’t carry it. So I opted for a Corona, which she brought salted, with a lime. It was cold and delicious. That’s when another member of the friendly waitstaff, a young woman in a rather revealing uniform, asked if I wanted any company. What a novel idea – a restaurant that offers dining companions. That’s another thing that almost hardly ever happens at Golden Corral.