El Toro is the bull-inspired, no-bull Thao Dien steakhouse where patience pays off and pretense stays at the door. Here, vintage beef meets wood fire, Basque tradition meets Vietnamese hospitality, and tables turn slowly because no one’s rushing you out. This is steak done right, without the bullsh*t.
This bit of origami is big. Not the kind you’re used to – bits of A5 paper folded into a crane or a sailboat. This is a bull, shoulder height. The paper gives it tenderness – it’s not the wild-eyed beast prone to bucking and going berserk. The paper’s grain mimics a bull’s leather hide, rough and weathered, but also soft and tender like the material itself. This particular bull sits there placidly. Around it, wine bottles lined up across three walls rise in a horseshoe, like the stalls of a plaza de toros.
Beyond them, like a ballsy toreador, Rafael has turned his back to the bull completely, searching through the rows of bottles for something special – maybe Champagne with the swimmer crab salad, a Pinot Noir with the lamb tartare, an Albariño with the octopus, prawns and squid, or a Mendoza Malbec that’ll cut through the richness of what’s coming.
El Toro opened into a Saigon already crowded with steakhouses, each claiming something – dry-aging programs, imported genetics, custom grills. What makes this one work isn’t a secret ingredient (though they’ll tell you about the Galiciana). It’s the absence of rush. Tables turn slowly here. The staff don’t hover. You’re allowed to just sit.
Trust Builds, The Room Fills
“Patience,” Rafael says when I ask how they’ve carving – literally – out space in a city where new openings can feel like they’re coming off a conveyor belt. “Life moves satisfyingly slowly here.” Trust builds. The room fills.
Up again, at the far end of the main dining room, in the open kitchen, the chefs move around in full view like thoroughbred horses in the paddock. Executive Chef Jaiden and Head Chef Thomas work in wordless choreography, even though El Toro just opened.
One plates while the other fires, as they dance back and forth to the wood-fired grill that anchors the space while the rest of the team work on sauces and appetizers.
Thomas taps the bell on the counter, and another steak goes out into the dining room.
Marbled Fat Catching The Light
A thick-cut rib eye sits on the cutting board, marbled fat catching the light. This is Argentinian Black Angus from Las Pampas, flown in specifically for its tenderness, Jaiden explains, but still with enough texture to please the unrefined, old-school steak lover.
Next out is something rarer – Galiciana B3+, the first in Vietnam according to the team. It’s older beef, dry-aged, with a pleasingly rich flavor and depth, with delicate marbling you don’t get from younger cattle.
“Every cut has its own story,” Jaiden nods. “You can imagine these cows, raised as breeding cattle, before ‘retiring’ to the pastures, feeding on natural grass.”
The Galiciana gets less time over flame than you’d expect – it doesn’t need it. The fat renders slowly, the crust forms without char.
Until The Food Arrives
The menu is the kind you’d want after a long day at work. There’s some explanation (the vintage beef comes in three kinds: Reserva, Galiciana, or The Matriarch – vintage wagyu from elite breeding cows), a handy flag to orient yourself as to the beef’s source, then you pick a cut that’s good for two people (after all, you’re both here for the beef, let’s face it) like the 750g Porterhouse.
Then it’s the kind of silence that comes when what’s on the table is the main attraction.
The booths wrap around you, give you space to settle in, to order a second bottle and lose track of time. Rafael reappears right on cue with a La Bastide de Lệ Thu that’ll hold up to the beef without overpowering it, something that will cut through the sauces – the signature pepper mushroom, or their tximitxurri, the Basque original of the Argentinian sauce better known as chimichurri. The sides are equally satisfying: triple-cooked fries and mixed wild mushrooms with morels.
Loving Odes To His Inspirations
Jaiden occasionally adds loving odes to his inspirations on the table standees. He discovered coastal lamb at the Albion by Kirk Westaway, “the finest lamb I’ve ever tasted – so buttery, so delicate, so full of character,” he writes about the inspiration for what became his Coastal Lamb Tartare. Or there’s the Special Octopus & Prawn Salad he had at Cipriani in London “that brought so much joy” and that became El Toro’s Octopus – Prawns – Squid.
“People tell us they first come here looking for great steaks, but what they leave with is an experience,” Rafael explains as he sets the Basque Cheesecake on the table alongside a Panna Cotta.
“El Toro is a place where guests get to leave all the noise behind, to really engage and dialogue with their loved ones. For us, it’s about combining great food, warm service, and making sure every visit is even better than the last.”
Good Beef, Good Wine, And Guests Who Stay As Long As They Like
The origami bull watches all of this. Still placid. Around it, the bottles keep disappearing like spectators drifting off into the night. Satisfied. It’s quiet now, and El Toro isn’t trying to be the loudest voice in Saigon’s dining scene either. It’s just turning out good beef, pouring good wine, and letting people stay as long as they want.
This is the bull inspired, no bull steakhouse.
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