Smith & Wollensky

It rained the whole afternoon I spent at Smith & Wollensky, and I cannot now imagine eating there in any other weather.

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 shrimp cocktail with proper horseradish, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Chianti Classico Riserva I wrote down in my notebook, 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 broiled tomato with a breadcrumb cap and hash browns the size of a hubcap. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was crème brûlée with a proper glass crust, 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.