Smith & Wollensky

A friend who knows New York better than I do put Smith & Wollensky at the top of a list of three. He was right, as he often is.

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 half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, 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. The seasoning was simple — salt, pepper, restraint — and it was the right call. The signature touch — Wollensky salad and the cottage fries — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for asparagus with hollandaise and wild mushrooms in butter. 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.

I will be back. With company, next time, and a longer reservation.