Wolfgang's Steakhouse

We came to Wolfgang's Steakhouse on a Tuesday because the calendar was kinder than the weekend. The room was three-quarters full and somehow more honest for it.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: vaulted Guastavino tile, brass fittings, waiters in tuxedos. 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 an Oregon pinot, against the steak waiter's better judgement, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: porterhouse, the dish that puts Wolfgang's Steakhouse on every short list. Was it the very best steak I have ever eaten? No. Was it among the dozen I think about most? Yes. The signature touch — the canopy of arches above the dining room — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for thick-cut onion rings, stacked 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.

If you are passing through New York, do not pass Wolfgang's Steakhouse by.