Burnt Ends

Walking into Burnt Ends for the first time is a small piece of theatre, and that is before any food has arrived.

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 tomato salad heavy with red onion and oregano, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a glass of port to finish, and then another, 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 fried okra and a dab of remoulade 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 vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso poured over, 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.