Metropolitan Grill

Travel is supposed to be exciting.

Then the USMNT gets knocked out of the World Cup on home soil and suddenly you’re sitting there with a very specific kind of sadness. The kind that requires red wine, oysters, and a properly cooked steak.

So I went to The Met.

Not just any steakhouse. A real one.

White linen. White coats. Dark wood. Old-school service. A room that feels like it remembers when going out to dinner meant something — when a meal was an event, not just a reservation you forgot you made.

The Metropolitan Grill has that classic Seattle steakhouse weight to it. Historic, polished, and just a little dramatic in the best way.

I usually sail straight for the bar. And I’ve got to say, it’s one of my favorite bars I’ve ever sat at. I’ve been here a few times now, and somehow, no matter how many people move through the room, the bartenders remember you. What you like. What you drink. That matters.

I went oysters, Washington Pinot Noir, and a prime steak because I was hurting and needed the full treatment.

If you’re in Seattle and not looking for the grungy beer-and-graffiti-wall experience — no shame, there’s a time and place for that too — this is where you go when you want something classic.

Now, the restrooms.

I reviewed the men’s, and it was solid.

Clean. Private. Spacious.

Stalls weren’t accessible though 🚫♿️

Two urinals, two stalls, and those old-school newspaper pages framed on the walls. They also had nice amenities: neat seat covers, hand lotion, mouthwash, and fresh-smelling soap.

A proper restroom for a proper steakhouse.

Metropolitan Grill lands at an 8/10.