There's an understated nobility to a proper corporate steakhouse that seems lost on today's dining crowd. Young people now flock to flashy hybrid concepts like Papi Steak, where the scene matters more than the meat and the sommelier's been replaced by a DJ. Millennials on the other hand are withering away at yet another trendy Mexican restaurant with a kitschy neon sign reading some bullshit like "So glad you're not here". Call me old school, but smoking a hand-rolled cigar and enjoying a filet at Club Macanudo in the Upper East Side sounds like a hell of a lot more fun.

‍

Like Club Macanudo, Hawksmoor transports diners to an elegant Art Deco era, where polished brass, geometric patterns, and warm lighting evoke the glamour of old supper clubs. This is a space free from the modern casualization of the Hoka-wearing, work-from-home crowd—the patrons here dress like three-martini lunches are still a daily ritual.

‍

The food here will not disappoint, just make sure you have a perfectly balanced order of cocktails, oysters, steak, lobster, and mac and cheese. The kitchen executes these classics with surgical precision: oysters arrive glistening on a bed of crushed ice, steaks emerge with textbook cross-hatched char concealing a ruby interior, and the lobster practically begs to be dragged through drawn butter. But it's their mac and cheese—a decadent affair that puts most others to shame—that proves even the simplest dishes deserve reverence when done right. This isn't innovation for innovation's sake; it's time-honored indulgence perfected through repetition.

‍

Originating in Edinburgh, Hawksmoor proves that while Americans may have pioneered the steakhouse, the British have perfected its soul. This is the kind of place that lingers in your memory long after the last sip of your martini.