Bavette's Steakhouse

We came to Bavette's Steakhouse on a Tuesday because the calendar was kinder than the weekend. The room was three-quarters full and somehow more honest for it.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: dim French bistro by way of Las Vegas. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with house-cured beef carpaccio, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a quiet Brunello from the back of the list, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bone-in filet, the dish that puts Bavette's Steakhouse on every short list. There was a thumb of butter melting into the cross-hatch, and a single sprig of thyme on top, and not one thing more. The signature touch — the steak frites and a martini at the bar — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap and thick-cut onion rings, stacked. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a wedge of chocolate cake to share, fork divided, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I will be back. With company, next time, and a longer reservation.