Hawksmoor

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Hawksmoor is one of the few that pulls it off without looking like it is trying.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: low light, dark wood, City crowd loosening ties. 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 an Oregon pinot, against the steak waiter's better judgement, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bone-in prime rib, the dish that puts Hawksmoor on every short list. Cut through it and you found that deep, beefy, almost iron-tasting interior that only comes from time and dry air. The signature touch — the triple-cooked chips — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap 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 tiramisu, just barely too much, 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.