Thursday June 14th | Pinnacle Peak Steakhouse | 259 Foothill Blvd, San Dimas, CA 91773
I grew up in Tucson, where, as I understand it, Pinnacle Peak Steakhouse & Saloon came into existence. Quintessential Tucson institution: fake Old West, lots of grilled meats, tons of booze. (Sort of like Chase’s in La Verne, though with cheesy charm.) In Tucson, Pinnacle Peak is even set within “Trail Dust Town,” a series of faux-western shops (and both sit next to Golf’N’Stuff, the superior attraction: bumper boats!). After having lived in the La Verne/Claremont/Pomona area for something like eight years, one day we were driving around San Dimas (surely en route to tigertails) and, wait, what?! Behold: a local Pinnacle Peak!?
That was about five years ago. We’ve talked about eating there many times but never seriously … until this summer’s quest befell us. So: Pinnacle Peak. Weekday lunch. The food? Fine, actually, even good. (If a bit pricey: $12.99 Cowboy Cobb salad with grilled chicken and corn, plenty of ripe avocado; $14.99 Prime Rib Santa Fe sandwich with tomato, pepper jack, ortega chilies, and chipotle mayo; lunches come with bread and beans, so there’s that).
But Pinnacle Peak is about the vibe. Big interior space, low-ceilinged, wood beams. Twanging contemporary country music. One other diner in the whole restaurant, resolutely going to town on a t-bone. $2.75 margaritas. Faux-cowboy & racist decor. Listen: would we rather be at Big Nose Kate’s, watching Doc spitefully eat an actual paper plate slathered with ketchup? Of course we’d rather be at Big Nose Kate’s, watching Doc spitefully eat an actual paper plate slathered with ketchup. But Tombstone is hundreds of miles away, and that plate thing is a dream that only happens once. So when Westworld has you jonesin’ for a simulacrum of the fake version of what isn’t close to the real Old West, hit up Pinnacle Peak. (Did we mention the $2.75 margaritas?)