There’s not much to say about the iconic steakhouse that does some of the best dry-aged butter-drenched porterhouse steaks known to man. It’s a historic place, dating back in various incarnations to 1887, with a fanatically loyal customer base and a famous secret dry-age technique, a mecca of all things beef. Onion rolls. Everything in Peter Luger smells in a marvelously stinky, savory way. Bacon, smoky and charred and meaty. Steak for four, baby. There are no words. Just tender beef goodness, the spectrum of dark burn to pink to ribbon’d fat and back, with a sheen of seasoned grease. The dry aging is something special, imbuing the rich, succulent steak with a beefy tang, the glorious aftertaste of climate-controlled decay. A side of German fried potatoes. And for dessert, the Holy Cow hot fudge sundae, with a mound of whipped schlag (cream), sturdy and sweet. And this amazing slice of cheesecake. Creamy and dense and more funky and sour than anything you’ll get out of a frozen Sara Lee box. As a side note, despite our somewhat brusque (brusque-friendly?) experience with the reservation line (but nothing less than professional), we didn’t have a wait to be seated, which I hear can be hit-or-miss, even if you arrive with full party and on time. So everything worked out great. The leftover steak made for fantastic steak and eggs in the morning. God bless America.