Sir Winston Churchill's

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Sir Winston Churchill's 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: fireplaces, claret, club 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 shrimp cocktail with proper horseradish, 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: prime rib, the dish that puts Sir Winston Churchill's on every short list. It arrived faintly hissing on a heated plate, the kind of small detail that tells you the kitchen still cares about the last twenty seconds before service. The signature touch — the Tudor house in Polanco, a complete time warp — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for skin-on fries, twice-fried and potato gratin with a dark crust. 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.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.