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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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