Trattoria Mario

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Trattoria Mario 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: lunch only, shared tables, no reservations. 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 Napa cabernet old enough to drink itself, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bistecca alla fiorentina, the dish that puts Trattoria Mario 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 — T-bone over chestnut embers, lemon on the side — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for creamed spinach so rich it should embarrass us and buttered haricots verts. 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.

It is not cheap. It is, in this case, worth it.