Keens

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

The room is exactly what you want it to be: clay pipes on the ceiling and theater bills under glass. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with bone marrow with a small salad of capers and parsley, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: mutton chop and prime rib, the dish that puts Keens on every short list. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. The signature touch — the mutton chop, of course — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for creamed spinach so rich it should embarrass us and broiled tomato with a breadcrumb cap. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

Some places earn their reputation. Keens earns it twice over.