Review of El Gaucho Steakhouse (by Roxanne G.)

Haven’t done many restaurant reviews, so Roxanne G. will be doing those.


When I want to have incredible sex, I go to El Gaucho Seattle.  No, silly, I don’t have sex at El Gaucho — I’m not that kind of girl and I don’t know if it’s that kind of place — nor am I looking to hook up with customers and employees. I go to El Gaucho because they make incredible sex between me and my Dummy Boy possible.

Incredible sex begins with fantasy and imagination. When you enter El Gaucho, you feel like you’ve become part of a classic black and white American film about backroom deals involving vengeful gangsters and crooked politicians and their ambitious mistresses. Everything becomes intriguing. You’re taken to a place where men are men, and women are women: so you can easily forget the time you caught your man watching gay porn and stop thinking about the possibility that he’s been trying on your panties and stockings, which would explain why some of them are so loose. Because imagining a hirsute guy with stubble wearing my panties and sheer stockings while porking me missionary isn’t so fun for me because I’m not that kind of girl. I’m just not.

El Gaucho makes men feel and look like men because their servers are observant and intuitive enough to not put him in difficult and embarrassing situations. They can read through the bullshit and facades people put up. They know when to NOT suggest top shelf liquor or the most expensive items on the menu; when asked, will pick a bottle of wine that’s financially appropriate instead of one that the guy can’t afford. They won’t appear peeved when a guy orders his steak well done. They make the anxious seem sophisticated, the pretentious appear charming, the macho become chivalrous. They make men *confident.*

And confidence is everything when it comes to incredible sex.

The tableside caesar is incredible too. I like that.


I don’t like this because I’m not that kind of girl.  



The lamb chops were yummy too.  I like that.  

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