
Ribeye
The fat does the work. Forty-five days on the bone, cooked hot and rested long. Ask for the cap.
On the menu
Wood fire · Dry-aged · Since 1987
Whole-animal butchery, forty-five days in the ageing room, and a grill that burns oak from a farm we can name. Everything else is a side.
A steakhouse is a simple promise made hard: the right animal, hung long enough, cut by someone who knows where the flavour is, then fire and salt and nothing to hide behind. We buy whole from three farms, break the carcasses ourselves on Tuesday mornings, and age every cut on the bone in a room you can see from the bar. The menu is short because the work is long.
Priced by the hundred grams, shown to you raw before it goes anywhere near the grill.
Days on the bone before a cut earns its place on the board.
Some go to ninety. None go under.

Whole sides arrive from the farm and the butcher takes them down to primal cuts before the kitchen is awake.

Salt walls, two degrees, seventy-five percent humidity. Every rack is dated and turned by hand.

Oak from one farm, split by us, lit two hours before the first cover so the embers are even.

Rested as long as it cooked, sliced against the grain, salted once more, and out.
“The porterhouse for two is the best steak I have eaten in this city, and I have been trying for twenty years. They showed it to us raw, told us the farm, and it came back exactly as promised.”









Occasions
A private room under the dining floor, its own sommelier, a menu agreed in advance. Birthdays, deals, the dinner after the wedding.

Gifts
Gift cards from fifty dollars, posted in a proper envelope or emailed within the hour.
Closed 24–26 December. Open New Year's Eve with a set menu; book early.

Reservations for the dining room. The bar and the counter belong to whoever walks in.