Bavette's Steakhouse

I had been meaning to get to Bavette's Steakhouse for years. I will not wait that long again.

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 a half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, 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. It arrived faintly hissing on a heated plate, the kind of small detail that tells you the kitchen still cares about the last twenty seconds before service. 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 thick-cut onion rings, stacked and skin-on fries, twice-fried. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through Chicago, do not pass Bavette's Steakhouse by.