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 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. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. The signature touch — Wollensky salad and the cottage fries — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for grilled radicchio with anchovy butter 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.

I paid the bill, walked out into the New York evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.