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When the Palm was just a red-sauce hangout for neighborhood newspapermen (and a few Lois Lanes), one of the owners would run up the street to the butcher for steak if some Hearst biggies insisted on meat. Well, none of us is exactly in desperate need of carb-and-fat overload, but who can refuse the Palm’s sensational sirloin slab? What a shock: broccoli (in an ideal state of cooked-but-not-too) and cottage fries-chips, actually hot and well seasoned. Did I say huge? Everything is huge. "Our veal parmigiana hangs over the plate," boasts the waiter.