Cut by Wolfgang Puck

Walking into Cut by Wolfgang Puck 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: Richard Meier white walls and California lighting. 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 wedge of iceberg with blue cheese, 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: american wagyu strip, the dish that puts Cut by Wolfgang Puck on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — the bone marrow flan — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for potato gratin with a dark crust 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 key lime pie, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Beverly Hills evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.