Loyal to my hometown favorites, I felt no craving for out-of-town steak when Capital Grille settled in at Chrysler Center just east of Grand Central two years ago. But a friend whose son runs the place invited us, and I didn’t want to be rude. The raucous cries of unbridled gluttony and dedicated chewing I witnessed suggest this town just can’t get enough steak and doesn’t mind digging in at a national chain. I was instantly thrilled by Philip Johnson’s futuristic Trylon wing—a tower of steel and glass rising asymetrically above our table in this stunning space, originally meant to be an automobile showroom. My friend and I split a 20-ounce sirloin, dry-aged, just tender enough, and exactly the way we wanted it—medium rare for her, rare for me. I was wary of coffee-rubbed cow, but my guy’s Kona-crusted sirloin with caramelized shallot butter was even better. Slivers of hot cherry peppers perked up the usual pan-fried calamari. And petals of fresh crab seemed especially voluptuous. All the steakhouse standards are here, of course. And not everything scores as high as the beef. Still, I can’t stop eating the greasy tangles of onion sharing a platter with puffy cottage fries. The potatoes had a rewarmed weariness. Desserts here are born to share. The chocolate hazelnut cake is grotesquely opulent. And $7.95 desserts are a way to make nice after $39 cow, naked on the plate.