I made a point of inviting women along on my trips to Quality Meats, but invariably we were surrounded by hordes of gentlemen making merry in their charcoal-colored suits. They conferred together in pairs or gathered at big long tables for raucous, expense-account-fueled feasts. Desserts are an afterthought at most prominent steakhouses, and that seems to be the case here too. I can’t quite remember what I ate, what I did, or even where I was after ingesting my big dinosaur rib chop, but I have dim recollections of the warm apple pie, which is not an apple pie at all but a bowl of stewed apples, with a random disc of crust slapped on top. The Key-lime tart is constructed in the same manner but contains enough of a sugar-and-tart-lime flavor to blast through even the foggiest food coma. The crumbly rocky-road tart has a similar effect, and so do the house ice creams, which come in designer flavors, like “coffee and doughnuts.” You can get these by the pint, and you may just want to. This is a steakhouse, after all, and daintiness has its limits.

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