FORT LAUDERDALE | FLORIDA
Caviar Club Brings 80s Excess Back to Las Olas
Fort Lauderdale's new retro-glam steakhouse pours martinis tableside, smokes its wagyu tartare under glass, and knows a night out should be fun.
★★★★★
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By Dana Somerstein | Oct. 26, 2026
AUTHOR BIO: Dana Somerstein’s passport is stamped with perfect pizza slices, delicate dumplings, and buttery baked goods. When she’s not chasing her next reservation, she practices real estate and banking law as a partner in Fort Lauderdale.
Patrick Bateman would kill for a reservation at Caviar Club. And if he couldn't get one? Well, that might be enough to turn him into an American Psycho. The newest addition to Las Olas has the sort of excess that would make the fictional Wall Street sociopath feel right at home: caviar, rich food, leopard-print seating, and enough 80s music to make you consider shoulder pads.
Caviar Club comes from Fort Lauderdale restaurateur Marc Falsetto, whose portfolio includes concepts ranging from Tacocraft to the revamped Runway 84. With Caviar Club, he takes a different tack, trading casual dining for a more dressed-up steakhouse experience on Las Olas.
Finally, something cool on Las Olas.
The decor alone suggests Caviar Club isn't particularly interested in playing it safe. The room has a wink to it, and the menu is like its double-breasted suit jacket.
I started with a dirty martini called the Filthy Rich, which was the best martini I have had this year: olive-oil-washed beluga gold vodka poured tableside with blue-cheese-stuffed olives and a housemade brine, so you can choose your own adventure with how dirty to make it.
For food, we started with the pull-apart bread and mascarpone butter. The bread has a crisp exterior and brioche center, and the butter is rich, with a little sweetness. But save room for the Potatoes & Oscietra Caviar, a dish that gives the humble potato an extravagant makeover. Beautiful little layers of potato pavé are cooked in duck fat, then dressed with crème fraîche, chives, and caviar from The Only Caviar, whose sustainably raised sturgeon are sourced from Italy and Poland. It's a few bites of potato heaven, and I wanted it delivered I Love Lucy style, with a conveyor belt sending one bite after another directly into my mouth. No plate. No pause. Just keep them coming.
The wagyu tartare arrived beneath a glass dome filled with smoke, giving the whole thing the reveal of a magic trick. The real trick, though, is making it last long enough to appreciate before digging in. Caper-forward, with pickled mustard seeds, cured yolk, and bone marrow aioli, it's rich, tangy, and full of contrasting flavors. The move is to mix everything together, then scoop a generous helping onto the perfectly buttered, toasted focaccia.
Then there's the prime rib, slow-cooked for 12 hours and presented with warm bone marrow au jus poured over the top. Freshly grated horseradish follows, falling across the meat like the first snowfall in South Florida, a rare weather event that's considerably more welcome on a plate. Its sharp aroma hits before the first bite, giving the appetite a nudge. The beef itself is tender, with a peppercorn-and-herb crust that announces itself immediately, adding just the right amount of bite to all that richness. A creamy horseradish sauce on the side delivers another layer of flavor, and it's good enough that you'll want to make sure every last piece of beef gets a little.
For dessert, we had the banana pudding, which makes a convincing case for ignoring whatever promises you made to yourself earlier in the night. It isn't overly sweet. There's a hint of caramel beneath a nutty brûlée top, and the whole thing tastes like the 1980s candy bar of your dreams, back when the ingredient list didn't need its own table of contents. Think Nilla wafer banana pudding after a few years on Wall Street: familiar at heart, but with a better wardrobe and some money to spend.
Caviar Club succeeds because it understands that a night out should be fun. The setting has the energy of Jessie Spano on caffeine pills, the friendly service encourages indulgence, and the menu offers more than expensive ingredients for the sake of expensive ingredients. There's a difference between a restaurant that wants you to notice the luxury and one that makes you enjoy it.
Las Olas has plenty of places to grab dinner. What it needs are more places that give you a reason to get dressed up, order another thing for the table, and let the evening run a little longer than planned.
Caviar Club makes a pretty good case for all three. You don't need a membership to get in—a reservation or a walk-in will do—but move fast: it may be harder to get in here than to get a reservation at Dorsia.
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