Burnt Ends

I had been meaning to get to Burnt Ends for years. I will not wait that long again.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: open kitchen counter, ambient smoke. 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 small dish of marinated white anchovies, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered Rioja gran reserva, decanted at the table, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: smoked beef short rib, the dish that puts Burnt Ends on every short list. Was it the very best steak I have ever eaten? No. Was it among the dozen I think about most? Yes. The signature touch — the four-tonne custom grill — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for potato gratin with a dark crust and pommes Anna. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was key lime pie, 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.