The steak you already knew you were ordering

A birthday steakhouse is not a discovery. It is a ritual: dark room, a potato that could feed a table, a steak that costs what a flight costs. The meat was good. The creamed spinach was better. Nobody at the table was checking a phone, which is the actual luxury.

I am not going to pretend this is interesting cooking. It is competent cooking in a room that knows why you came. Score is for the night, which did its job.

Go if the table is the point. The meat will be fine. The check will not be a surprise, and that is the kindness.