Smith & Wollensky

Some rooms tell you exactly what to order the moment you sit down. Smith & Wollensky, in New York, is one of them.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: white-tile corner room above Third Avenue. 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 heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bone-in ribeye, the dish that puts Smith & Wollensky on every short list. There was a thumb of butter melting into the cross-hatch, and a single sprig of thyme on top, and not one thing more. The signature touch — Wollensky salad and the cottage fries — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for skin-on fries, twice-fried 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 a slab of New York cheesecake, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

Some places earn their reputation. Smith & Wollensky earns it twice over.