This is the sort of opulent, over-the-top steakhouse chain that exemplifies old-school hospitality; the kind of place into which Dudley Moore’s Arthur would have drunkenly stumbled, only to have the maître d’ wordlessly slip a coat on his prostitute companion. And its improved service swishes and performs amid dramatic architecture, stuffy dark woods and wrought iron, and decorative bottles of terribly expensive wine.

Needless to say, the prices are in line with those at other high-end steakhouses, and the steak follows suit. A Prime New York strip with its trademark skirt of fat comes judiciously seasoned and broiled to a char on the outside, while maintaining maximum juiciness inside. These guys are grill ninjas: a rare-plus request, so often brushed off as medium-rare, comes expertly executed, with a bright-red, slightly warm center. Filet mignon, a challenge due to its inherent lack of marbling, still manages a supremely succulent tenderness, so you’d better believe the one-pound ribeye, with its liberal marbling, is worth the cardiologist’s bill. Sides can’t compete, with the potatoes au gratin merely a coagulated lump of potato and cheese, and onion rings neutered of flavor.

The wine list’s a hefty tome of New World-style Spectator darlings, but with a pretty good range of price points. Cocktails are of the overpriced, oversized, and not very carefully executed variety. They’re, in other words, appropriately over the top.