Wolfgang's Steakhouse

A friend who knows New York better than I do put Wolfgang's Steakhouse 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: 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 chopped salad with too much bacon, exactly right, 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. It was, frankly, the best version of this cut I have had this year. 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 wild mushrooms in butter 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 panna cotta with stewed cherries, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

Some places earn their reputation. Wolfgang's Steakhouse earns it twice over.