To call this place a steakhouse is a real misnomer. Granted, they serve steak and stuff, but the atmosphere couldn’t further from that stuffy genre than Felix is from Oscar. Steakhouses stand on ceremony and wallow in their standing as America’s place where men are men and women are disgusted at what cigar-chomping pigs men can be. Let’s be honest; steakhouses are one small, topless step away from strip clubs. It’s as if some sort of aerosol testosterone floats in the air and turns us back into cave dwelling knuckle-draggers (in suits). Dylan Prime is a fine example of taking a stale institution and softening the edges by trendying it up, adding some sexiness and catering to a younger generation that doesn’t wear formalwear at work or out to dinner. The crowd was, in fact one of the youngest, most attractive and loud I’ve seen at a reasonably pricey restaurant my entire time in New York. The volume came in just below a roar but just above a World War One bi-plane buzzing by your head. It was certainly less of an issue given the amount of sweet, sweet femininity there was to ogle (before getting smacked and lectured for staring). What I’m saying is that there was lots of good people watching–and most of those people are wasted and born after the release of Star Wars. We’ve noticed that a lot of steakhouses are too brightly lit, but the dim lighting and high ceilings here give a nice sense of space while maintaining a good deal of intimacy, and the banquettes (one of which we were lucky enough to get) give it a nice touch of old school class. I made the mistake of ordering a Dylan Prime Manhattan for my pre-dinner drink, but after that everything was smooth sailing with a great strip steak and side sauces that Ms. Hipster claimed were so good she wanted to “swim in them.” The appetizers and sides were also top notch, although a good dose of alcohol certainly does help the food go down. This seemed to be the place to come to celebrate your 28th birthday (or 23rd), and was pretty darn tasty, so if you feel like a nice steak and a joint that is close to absolutely nothing, bring your 1996 self to the steakhouse where even your 2005 body can enjoy a night of letting go. [MF]
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