tomahawk steak flemings

Back in the day—like, pre-pandemic ancient history—Fleming’s rolled out “Tomahawk Tuesday” like it was dropping a new Beyoncé album. Word spread fast: for one night a week, you could snag their signature tomahawk steak flemings at a slightly tamer price (think around $59 instead of the usual $70+). But here’s the tea: as of late 2025, most locations have quietly retired the official “Tuesday” promo. Don’t panic though—many Fleming’s still serve the tomahawk steak flemings any night of the week; they just don’t slap a discount label on it anymore. Some regional spots might bring it back seasonally or during holidays, so it never hurts to call ahead and ask, “Y’all still doin’ that tomahawk special?” Pro tip: servers love when you know what you’re after. Just don’t show up Tuesdays expectin’ a deal unless you’ve double-checked. Ain’t nobody got time for steak disappointment.

Let’s cut through the fat (pun intended): the tomahawk steak flemings ain’t for the faint of heart—or the solo diner with modest leftovers goals. Clocking in at a jaw-dropping 36 ounces (that’s over two pounds!), this beast is carved from the rib primal, featuring a long, French-trimmed bone that looks like something Thor would use to stir his morning coffee. For perspective, it’s roughly the size of a newborn baby’s torso… but way tastier. Most tables order it to share, though we won’t judge if you go full caveman and claim it all for yourself. Just maybe loosen your belt before the first bite. Fun fact: the dramatic presentation—carried tableside on a sizzling platter—is half the experience. You don’t just eat a tomahawk steak flemings; you perform it.

Look, Fleming’s menu reads like a who’s who of bovine aristocracy: filet mignon, New York strip, ribeye… but if you’re asking what’s best, the answer depends on your vibe. Want buttery tenderness? Go filet. Craving bold flavor with a bit more chew? Strip’s your guy. But if you’re after drama, depth, and enough marbling to make a marble jealous—then the tomahawk steak flemings is your main character. It’s essentially a bone-in ribeye, aged to perfection, with that iconic handle giving it extra surface area for caramelization. And because it’s USDA Prime (the top 2% of beef in the U.S.), every bite melts like it’s apologizing for being so delicious. Honestly? If you’re celebrating, splurging, or just need to remind yourself you’re alive, the tomahawk steak flemings isn’t just a meal—it’s a mood.

Alright, let’s talk turkey—or rather, beef. Why does the tomahawk steak flemings cost as much as your phone bill? Three words: scarcity, labor, and wow factor. First off, USDA Prime beef is rare—only about 2% of cattle make the grade, thanks to intense marbling standards. Then there’s the cut itself: each cow yields maybe two tomahawks, max. That’s not exactly mass production. Add in the skill needed to French-trim that bone (a process where fat and meat are meticulously scraped away to leave a clean, elegant handle), plus dry-aging time, plus the sheer weight (36 oz = more product per plate), and suddenly $65–$85 starts making sense. Oh, and let’s not forget the theater of it all—Fleming’s isn’t just selling steak; they’re selling an experience. And honey, experiences cost extra. But hey, if you split it four ways? Suddenly it’s $20 a head for prime-grade carnivore heaven. Not bad for a Tuesday… even if it’s not Tomahawk Tuesday anymore.

You haven’t truly witnessed the tomahawk steak flemings until it arrives at your table looking like a prop from a medieval feast crossed with a Michelin-starred dream. The steak’s plated on a scorching-hot cast-iron dish, juices bubbling audibly, smoke curling toward the ceiling like it’s summoning the gods of umami. The bone stands tall, gleaming from its French trim, often garnished with rosemary sprigs or roasted garlic cloves for that “I meant to do this” aesthetic. Servers usually carve it tableside, slicing thick, rosy medallions that glisten under the low lighting. It’s part dinner, part performance art—and honestly, half the reason people keep coming back. Because let’s be real: eating a tomahawk steak flemings alone in your kitchen just doesn’t hit the same. You need witnesses. You need ambiance. You need someone to say, “Dang, that’s a lot of cow.”

Down in Houston or Dallas, folks might say the tomahawk steak flemings is “durn near as big as my truck”—with zero irony. Meanwhile, in Manhattan? Someone’s snapping a pic for their finsta captioned “#treatyourself era” before they’ve even tasted it. Regional slang shapes how we talk about luxury, but the hunger’s universal. In the South, it’s “y’all better save room”; in California, it’s “so bougie but, like, sustainably sourced?” (Spoiler: Fleming’s doesn’t advertise grass-fed, but their Prime beef is grain-finished for maximum marbling.) No matter where you are, though, the reaction’s the same: wide eyes, slow nods, and someone inevitably saying, “We should’ve ordered two.” The tomahawk steak flemings transcends dialect—it speaks fluent crave.

You don’t just throw any old drink next to a tomahawk steak flemings and call it a night. Nah, this demands strategy. Fleming’s wine list is famously robust—over 100 bottles, curated by actual sommeliers who won’t judge you for saying “I like reds that taste like jam and leather.” Go classic with a Napa Cabernet Sauvignon (bold tannins cut through the fat like a hot knife through butter) or get spicy with a Malbec from Mendoza. Not a wine person? Their bar slings killer Old Fashioneds—bourbon’s caramel notes hug that charred crust like they’ve known each other since college. And if you’re feeling extra? Ask about their reserve pours. Yeah, it’ll cost you an extra $20, but when you’re already deep in tomahawk steak flemings territory, might as well go full send.

First myth: “It’s just a fancy name for ribeye.” Well… technically yes, but also no. The tomahawk steak flemingsis a ribeye—but with the entire rib bone left intact and French-trimmed for drama. That bone isn’t just for show; it insulates the meat during cooking, keeping it juicier. Second myth: “It’s impossible to cook at home.” False! It’s just expensive and requires serious grill real estate. Third myth: “It’s all fat.” Nope—the marbling renders down into flavor gold, and Fleming’s trims excess hard fat so you’re left with tender, beefy bliss. Bottom line? The tomahawk steak flemings isn’t smoke and mirrors. It’s science, art, and appetite, all wrapped around a bone.

Birthdays? Obvious yes. Promotions? Absolutely. Random Wednesday when your soul needs reminding that joy exists? Also valid. The beauty of the tomahawk steak flemings is that it turns any gathering into an event. We once saw a couple split one on a first date—risky move, but they’re married now, so… take that as you will. Corporate dinners love it for its shareable grandeur; friend groups order it to settle debates (“Who’s the hungriest?”). Just know this: it’s not a “quick bite.” Plan for a leisurely two-hour meal, good conversation, and maybe a post-steak nap in an Uber. And if you’re thinking, “Can I expense this?”—well, that’s between you and your accountant. But emotionally? 100% deductible.

If you’re hungry for more than just facts about the tomahawk steak flemings, you’re in luck. Start with the hub of all things nightlife and nosh at Auction House NYC, where we break down everything from secret menus to reservation hacks. Dive deeper into libations and bites in our curated Bar section—because great steak deserves great drinks. And if you’re hunting for deals that don’t skimp on quality, don’t miss our guide to Bacari Happy Hour Deals Great, where small plates meet big savings. Trust us, your future self (and your wallet) will thank you.

References

• https://www.flemingssteakhouse.com/menu
• https://www.beefresearch.org/cuts/tomahawk-steak
• https://www.foodandwine.com/cooking-techniques/meat/tomahawk-steak-guide
• https://www.usda.gov/agscience/beef-grading-standards