Bern's Steak House

It rained the whole afternoon I spent at Bern's Steak House, and I cannot now imagine eating there in any other weather.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: red-velvet maze of dining rooms. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with grilled provoleta with chimichurri, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Oregon pinot, against the steak waiter's better judgement, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: chateaubriand, the dish that puts Bern's Steak House 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 half-million-bottle wine cellar — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap and wild mushrooms in butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a slab of New York cheesecake, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

It is not cheap. It is, in this case, worth it.