By LESLIE BRENNER / Restaurant Critic

Perry's, the 7-year-old Routh Street steakhouse, has changed its name. Faced with the threat of a lawsuit from a South Texas restaurant with a similar name, the owners decided to call theirs The Place at Perry's rather than spend a fortune in legal fees. My guess is that patrons won't care much: I'll bet they'll keep calling it Perry's, and keep coming back. For me, the name change seemed like just the occasion to see what (The Place at) Perry's is all about.

The narrow dining room is cozy and comfortable, with a clubby, classic feel and the kind of decor that never goes out of style. Leather booths, great for intimate conversation, line one wall; white-clothed tables are spaced far apart enough for privacy, yet close enough for an intimate feeling. It's masculine, but not steakhouse macho, with enough soft touches in the room that a glass of champagne to start off an evening feels right.

In any case, it's the kind of place where it would seem a crime not to have a drink first. Of course, you could go for a Scotch or a martini, but the house cocktail list is worth a look – if you can get one. (On one visit, it was happily offered; on the next, the waiter denied its existence.) The drinks are well-mixed, and you've got to love a place that features a Harvey Wallbanger.

Music is soft enough that conversation's easy, but the place is so dimly lighted at dinner that the over-40 set may have trouble reading the menu. That's OK: A waiter shows up with a penlight. Oh, maybe it's not just us old fogies – my under-21 guest needs it, too.

The menu offers much more than steaks and chops: Lobster tails come broiled, tempuraed or stuffed with crabmeat, and there are prawns and roast chicken and a whole specials menu with dishes like tilapia with Texas goat cheese and sun-dried tomato sauce, plus no end of funny surf 'n' turf spins. But honestly, none of it sounds half as good as the steaks and chops. A taste of flounder stuffed with crabmeat does little to change my mind: This is a place to order meat.

In that department, everything I tasted in two visits was terrific, from a 14-ounce New York strip to a 23-ounce cowboy rib eye to a 32-ounce Porterhouse, all prime. Order a steak medium-rare, and the waiter will explain that at Perry's, er, The Place at Perry's, that means a cool red center. If you're like me and dream of one that's between rare and medium-rare, that's perfect; and every steak was cooked exactly right on both visits. The prime cowboy rib eye had a particularly delicious tang and great sear, fantastic with the roasted shallot au jus.

How often do you order lamb or veal or pork at a steakhouse, then wind up wishing you had ordered a steak? Not a problem here. When one of my guests ordered the lamb, the double-cut domestic chops were tender, juicy and wonderfully lamb-y (but not gamy), served with a graceful rosemary demi-glace that didn't veer into scary, intense hotel-sauce territory.

But The Place isn't all about meat: Unlike at many great steakhouses, where starters and sides tend to be dull or even laughable, here chef-co-owner Travis D. Henderson II takes serious care with classic appetizers and salads. The shrimp cocktail's sauce had just the right zing of horseradish; the jumbo shrimp were sweet and perfectly cooked. The Caesar was crisply classic. Henderson's version of the blue cheese iceberg wedge was one of the best I've had, with hickory-smoked bacon, cooked to just crisp, and the rich, salty cheese perfectly balanced by red wine vinegar. Lovely.

Another night, escargots impressed. Rather than the old snails-in-their-shells-in-garlic-butter routine, these were luscious, plump snails simmered in a white-wine sauce with shallots, a bit of tomato and thin-sliced, barely cooked mushrooms. The half-lemon squeezable garnish added nothing; the dish was perfect as served. So delicious were they that we asked the waiter where they were from – were they locally raised, we wondered. He came back from the kitchen with the answer: "They're from Indonesia. The chef picked them up at Central Market."

Sides were mostly very good: rich sautéed mushrooms; a giant 1-pound baked potato, dressed tableside; cheddary mac 'n' cheese; earthy creamed spinach that, unlike most, was much more spinach than cream sauce. A few just missed: beautiful, thick steamed asparagus that was undercooked, au gratin potatoes drowning in cream and cheese.

Service was terrific for the most part, friendly, but not too; enthusiastic, but not to the point of silliness. Though the servers know the menu well, they tend not to be as familiar with the wine list, and oddly for a restaurant at this level, there is no sommelier. On both of my visits, though, when I asked if there were someone in the house who knew the list, the servers solicited the help of another waiter, who was happy to jump in with advice.

It's an eclectic, medium-size list that focuses on California, but also offers some interesting Old World selections, as well as a dozen reds by the glass, half a dozen whites and a few sparklers.

Desserts at The Place are a bit of a snooze. "Brown bag" apple pie sounded intriguing: "juicy, sweet, tart apple slices between a crunchy top crust and a flaky bottom crust baked in a paper bag." But it veered more toward the sweet than the juicy or tart. Key lime pie was fine, but ordinary.

Well, you could always skip it, and duck into the new lounge in back for an after-dinner single malt or cognac. After a great steak, that kind of dessert never disappoints.

Service – Friendly and knowledgeable, but The Place could use a sommelier.
Atmosphere – Cozy, attractive, quiet steakhouse with white-clothed tables and leather booths

By KIM HARWELL

CLASS ACT:
Don't let the subdued, sophisticated vibe fool you. The Place at Perry's, which bills itself as a "classic Dallas dinner house," may offer upscale cuisine in a polished setting, but chef-owner Travis Henderson isn't afraid to play the comfort-food card, offering such down-home dishes as Southern-fried prime rib-eye and macaroni and cheese alongside more upmarket offerings like tuna tartare or a bone-in pork loin chop with roasted shallot jus.

Dimly lighted dining rooms boast oversize brown leather banquettes and hardwood floors, creating a rich but never oppressive ambience. On each table sits a glass jar of olives; a slender condiment fork serves as a visual clue that these serve-yourself treats aren't intended as mere decoration.

SNIPS AND SNAILS:
Lump crab cakes ($12) featured two delicate seafood discs kissed with a goodly amount of red bell pepper but otherwise mercifully filler-free. They made a fine starter but weren't quite as impressive as one of the evening's featured appetizers, sautéed escargots ($10). Fat juicy snails, served with thick slices of garlic toast, were swimming in a garlicky white-wine broth with meaty chunks of mushroom; the tender bites were simply prepared and simply delicious.

SALAD DAZE:
A chopped house salad ($8) scored as many points for presentation as for flavor. Minced bacon, blue cheese, boiled egg, mushroom and onion were tightly molded into a compact disc of concentrated bold tastes. Given the season, we were skeptical when our waiter recommended a special offering of heirloom tomatoes with buffalo mozzarella ($18), but we were dutifully wowed by the array of variously hued tomatoes, sliced and fanned around a large platter with thick slabs of mild, fresh-tasting cheese. We only wish his description had included the dish's mammoth size (easily enough to serve two) and corresponding price tag.

SEEING RED (MEAT):
All the beef at The Place at Perry's is prime, and the 12-ounce filet mignon ($35) we sampled was a near-perfect specimen. Thick cut and velvet-textured, the sublime meat practically oozed decadence. After tasting the lush beef, it was hard to figure out what went wrong with the double-cut lamb chops ($34). One of the two modestly sized chops was OK: a little gamy, but tender and juicy. The other, though cooked to the requested medium-rare, was so dry and tough we were left wondering if these two pieces of meat could have come from the same animal.

SIDE EFFECTS:
Most entrees come with a choice of potato or other side dish. An order of steak fries appeared to be one giant spud hewn into four giant wedges, golden crisp on the outside, steaming and fluffy on the inside. Au gratin potatoes were also served piping hot, laced with bacon in an oniony cream sauce and topped with a layer of molten cheddar cheese. Other options include creamed spinach, steamed French cut green beans with sautéed onions, and a port-simmered blend of wild and domestic mushrooms.

CAKE WALK:
The dessert list returns to the realm of down-home comfort foods, with meal-enders ranging from carrot cake and pecan pie to an old-fashioned root beer float and apple pie baked in a brown paper bag. Chocolate fudge cake ($6) was as rich and moist as any sweet tooth could hope for; we swore to take just a bite, then promptly polished off the entire slice.

POUR PERFORMANCE:
The far-reaching wine list roams the globe in a variety of price points. Often-overlooked niceties include a selection of ports and dessert wines, as well as nearly a half-dozen reds, whites and champagnes available by the half-bottle. There's also a good collection of wines by the glass. A 2001 Franciscan Cabernet ($15 per glass) from Napa Valley paired well with our steak, but the stemware left something to be desired. A bigger bowl would have allowed the same generous pour while permitting space for a little aeration via swirling.

SERVE YOU WELL:
Service is top-notch. Our waiter was friendly without being overly familiar, and he was intimately familiar with the menu and preparations. Just as laudable was the work by the skilled cadre of busboys who kept water glasses filled and removed spent plates in an impressive display of now-you-see-them, now-you-don't unobtrusiveness.

Best of Dallas - Best Steak

The Place at Perry's serves only prime beef, and while prime may at times seem interchangeable with flame-proof saddle padding on the city's menus, The Place at Perry's has the real thing both on paper and between the lips. It's juicy, rich and infiltrated with lusty silk that successfully straddles the razor-thin line between feminine refinement and masculine rusticity, never delving too far into either pocket. Each bite is a fresh adventure in the annals of beef-witted delight. Yet these gnaws are plump with exquisitely balanced flavor, and therefore rife with intelligence--the kind that fills your mind with two-fisted poetry.

Best of Dallas 2003 - Best Waitstaff

It's a given that a competent service staff has a deft grip on the menu, and The Place at Perry's is no exception. Yet steak generally doesn't cause a strain on the culinary memory banks. What does tax servers are the vagaries of people. The Place at Perry's staff knows people. They know how to make them feel at ease, how to serve without being a pest (never interrupt a conversation to ask if everything is OK), how to anticipate needs, how to meet them without calling attention to the service protocol. Skillful service is being in the forefront while loitering in the background.

By Michele Axley

Hey, The Place at Perry's, are you ready to run with the big boys-Al, Bob, Del, Pappas, Chamberlain, and Nick & Sam? And don't forget about that femme fatale Ruth (Chris), who's proven she can hang in there with the best of them.

In the macho world of "Big D" steakhouses, where you eat what you kill, they are waiting in the wings and ready to take you on.

So, what's goin' on so far? With less than six months under your belt, without much fanfare and with great "word of mouth," everything seems to be going swimmingly for you-so far, so good. So, let's talk…

The Place at Perry's, one of the latest beef houses to hit town, is livening up the corner of Cedar Springs and Routh Street. Vacant for the past year or so, and former home to Ruggeri's Ristorante, the new spot is serving up a diverse and so far a very commendable beef and seafood menu.

The restaurant was named for the late philanthropic father of silent partner, Bill Esping-Perry was his Dad's middle name. Amie Bergus and Travis Henderson are the proprietors.

Bergus and Henderson hooked up while she was operations partner at Sam's Café/Canyon Café and he was executive chef. Opening chef at Café Pacific and executive chef positions at Newport's Seafood and Hampton's Seafood are other highlights on Henderson's culinary résumé. Both partners are conspicuously present on-premise welcoming diners six nights a week. Service here is a strong point.

So, The Place at Perry's, what else accounts for your solid beginning?

First and foremost, you're serving "prime"-aged for at least 21 days-meats. Filets (8- to 12-oz./$27 to $31), New York strips (12-16-oz./$27 to $30), ribeye (14-oz./$25) porterhouse (22-oz./$32), and a 14-oz. veal chop ($29) are main attractions. And sous chef Jaime Corona, formerly of Ruth's Chris Steak House, has the knack for grilling them. We experienced the same crusty buttery exterior, grilled to a soft moist-pink center with the filet. The New York strip and double-cut domestic lamb chops (16-oz./$29) are also worth going back for. The rosemary spiked demi-glace with the chops is proof of the kitchen's skill in the sauce department.

Henderson's seafood expertise is evident on the menu, particularly with his able rendition of an evening special. Nine brown-hued medium-sized scallops ($22) were luscious and filling. Just as requested, the meaty, inch-and-a-half sweet scallops were sautéed to a pale beige center in a rich salmon cream sauce-another winner from the saucier. A simple side of tender emerald-green steamed broccoli crowns was a good accompaniment.

Soups ($6 a bowl) and The Place at Perry's magnum salad ($9) were also top notch. The intense flavors of the tomato and artichoke cream soup and the clam chowder had all the appropriate flavors of their respective ingredients-recognizable, which can be a dining coup these days. My dining partner said, "it's one of the best chowders," he's ever had.

The magnum salad-a toss of romaine, iceberg, and baby lettuce with hearts of palm, asparagus, toasted pecans, tomato, Maytag bleu cheese, and champagne vinaigrette is ample for sharing and delicious. The chopped cobb-style assortment delivered a forkful of assorted pungent flavors with each bite.

Potato lovers, rejoice and get ready to indulge. Some terrific renditions are on this menu. Mashed potatoes ($5)-a creamy concoction of white truffle oil, heavy cream, and Yukon Golds-and the au gratin potatoes ($5), even creamier in their cheese and butter sauce, were both impressive spud sides. Never one to appreciate steak potatoes ($5), The Place at Perry's thick Idaho strips were baked, then fried, delivering soft centers with crisp exteriors-terrific.

Of the five desserts ($5 to $7) offered, gooey chocolate cake filled with a warm fudge center did the trick-a perfect finish.

About the setting: The rotunda-like, private-club look to the entrance is stylish and sets the mood of what's to come.

Inside, understated elegance awaits. Rich chocolate brown, high-back leather banquettes offer semi-private and some completely private tables. Lights that women love, dim, make for even a cozier feel. The dark woods, white tablecloths and a centrally located bar, add a clubby dimension.

So, The Place at Perry's, what didn't we like?

Your initial $12 Grey Goose martini pour. After some eyebrow raising, we saw the price come down to a somewhat more reasonable $10 per drink on a later visit.

A tricked up chicken fried steak. The "southern" prime chicken fried ribeye ($19) seemed too fine a cut to waste with its way too thick and floury, battered preparation.

With the oldest vintage listed as 1996, a good, but immature wine list was initially in place. We were told it would be further developed in the near future. A complex 1998 Stags Leap ($84) Cabernet, with layers of chocolate and plums, did go well with our beef entrée and chocolate dessert.

The booths on the right side of the restaurant are not big enough to comfortably seat four, no matter what ones shape or size. More comfort is found in the ones near the bar.

No cappuccino machine.

Finally, The Place at Perry's, what will your future bring? Are you ready for prime time?

By many accounts - the much sought after word of mouth - it looks like you are muscling your way in. On our last visit, we noticed numerous "bold face name" types who had discovered the posh new spot.

But keep in mine, in the life of a Dallas steakhouse, it's a mile-run, not a 100-yard dash. You're off to a great start - just keep on running.

Take a good look. The Place at Perry's isn't your typical steakhouse.
By Mark Stuertz

In many ways, The Place at Perry's is just another steakhouse. The steakhouse formula has been perfected for so long in the Dallas restaurant crucible that it seems any competent restaurateur can sleepwalk through the execution. The Place at Perry's dubs itself a classic Dallas dinner house, which could mean several things, from Black-eyed Pea to garish French-continental.

Securing firm footing in the steakhouse genre, The Place at Perry's has the dark wood paneling, the low light, the central chandelier and the bar with cigars and single malts. It has sides of asparagus, creamed spinach and potatoes that can be had in four different versions--baked, mashed, fried and au gratin.

Yet it's just a little bit different, maybe even eccentric, if you look hard enough. There is no brass in the place, or at least not much. In addition to the typical roster of steaks and chops, The Place at Perry's offers a prime Southern-fried rib eye. You might think it's weird to have something like this on a menu that calls green beans haricot verts, but frying prime steaks is getting to be trendy. I just hope they don't start boiling them.

The Place at Perry's also offers beef tips as an appetizer, which is strange for a restaurant whose name doesn't rhyme with "rubies." Roasted in a brandy-peppercorn sauce, the tips come in a little boat surrounded by crisp Parmesan crostini. These tips are tender and rich accompanied by a sauce that is clean and smooth with a flavor that didn't cloud the taste of the meat.

The Place at Perry's booths have high backs that are finished in chocolate-brown leather set off with fabric. The backs are arched at the top, and the padding and leather treatment are carried over to the wall. If they would have put a leather top over it, The Place at Perry's could have created the world's first padded dining cell. Rows of booths are on raised carpeted platforms that flank the central dining room. This long space is handsome in that steakhouse sort of way that makes you wish you had a smoking jacket and an ascot. Yet somehow the dining room manages to skirt the overt masculinity that tends to tease away the appetite before the iceberg lettuce salad arrives. With an arched ceiling and a hardwood floor, the long room resembles a subway tube, albeit one with attractive chandeliers instead of dirty lightbulbs.

The Place at Perry's exudes refined elegance with a corner staircase at Routh and Cedar Springs leading up to columns holding up the awning. There are lights imbedded in the stone floor of the entryway before you reach the huge wooden doors. Big juicy steaks almost always seem to call for big, dark woods. There are even a few wine bottles scattered here and there for display.

Unlike some steakhouses where things can seem overdone, The Place at Perry's is understated. You can feel the richness of the ambiance, but it doesn't knock you over the head with garish elegance. It also has a few things that no other steakhouses have. For example, there are jars of green olives on every table and a tiny fork you can use to harpoon them. It would have been a nice touch to include a spittoon or an ashtray, as olive pits are hard to get out of your inside jacket pocket after a few days. The Place at Perry's also has this little wine-cork bulletin board near the bathrooms along with a note pad and a writing instrument so you can write little notes to people just finishing up in the bathroom.

The steaks mimic this quirky elegance, though not the quirks. The 12-ounce New York strip was tender and chewy without being grisly and fatty. Its graininess was distinct and forward--pure meaty pleasure. It was served with a moist baked potato the size of a wrecking ball that was dressed at the table with a choice of sour cream, butter, scallions, bacon bits and cheese.

Seafood is equal to the red meat. Maybe that's because in this case, it is red meat. Ahi tuna steak, marinated in wasabi soy and dressed with an orange ginger sauce, was silky and rich. This meat was barely kissed by heat, which means the center was a thick red band with a thin sliver of taupe on the top and bottom--and this was the second version. The Place at Perry's servers ask you to cut into your meat when it's delivered while they hover over you to make sure it's done to your specifications. This is a difficult task in The Place at Perry's amber dim, one that could be eased with a miner's helmet.

Anyway, the first versions of both the steer and fish steaks were closer to dinghy well-done than rosy-red jiggle. Once we informed our server that the meats were not done to our specifications a whole orchestration of obsequiousness was set into motion, including rounds of apologies from various servers, a visit from a manager, the removal of a baked potato that was half eaten and replaced with a new one and various offers to comp certain elements of our dining experience. We held out for a year's worth of free dinners for members of our immediately family and ended up with a dessert sampler.

Which wasn't a bad trade-off actually. The Place at Perry's apple pie is simply brilliant. The flavors are distinct and rich without being mushed together (you can actually pull out some apple tang). The fudge cake is rich and moist while the crème brûlée was topped with a warm crisp lid covering cool rich custard.

The Place at Perry's meals are good at the beginning, too. Tuna tartare is a lush appetizer with tiny glistening red cubes heaped upon a wavy swirl of wasabi cream sauce. Two pinches of Thai pepper paste flank the tuna, and it's all mixed and stirred together at your table just in front of a heap of rich tomato and avocado on lettuce leaves. The toast points were deliciously seasoned without being dry and musty. Everything in this little orchestration is fresh and clean. Simmered in wine, thyme, parsley and garlic, the mussels are sweet and plump with none of those off flavors that make you cringe as they go down.

Servers are dressed in white shirts covered by black aprons, and they are as graciously efficient as they are thorough. They know the menu, and they're quick with those little niceties--folding napkins after you leave the table and offering tastes of the day's soups--that make dining that much more enjoyable. They've even nailed the wine service ritual down with deftness, although the heavily California-centric list is short on adventurousness. We chose Gallo's Frei Brothers pinot noir (Russian River), a rich complex drink with lots of lush black cherry and hints of caramel. The fact that it's available by the glass makes it doubly good. This wine is good because it has the modesty to work well with rich fish and the stamina to meet a steak head-on.

We gave it a whirl with the rotisserie herb chicken, a superbly well-seasoned half bird that was tender, if a little dry. The side of mashed potatoes, deluged with butter, was dense and creamy.

Mushroom soup worked well with that pinot, as well. This thick soup was rich in earthy fungi flavors that were clean and forward and untrounced by aggressive seasoning.

Perhaps the best cut of meat on the The Place at Perry's roster is the double-cut lamb chops, spindles of Colorado-raised lamb in rosemary demi-glace. The meat had everything that's good about lamb--that unusual strain of sweetness and the silky succulence--and none of the drawbacks such as sharp gaminess and stringy texture. The rosemary demi-glace was clean and played well off the meat.

The Place at Perry's is a partnership between Amie Bergus, chef Travis Henderson (Canyon Café, Newport's, Café Pacific) and businessman Bill Esping. The Perry's Web site (www.perrys-dallas.com) says that the restaurant was named after Esping's father, Perry E. "Bill" Esping, who wanted to frequent a restaurant with great food and great service that made him feel like he owned the place. For the most part, that's what The Place at Perry's is. I mean, in how many other upscale restaurants can you leave a personal note to someone coming out of the bathroom?

Admit it. You thought that The Place at Perry's - a new Uptown steakhouse - was owned by local hair maestro and all-around stylish gent Perry Henderson. Sorry, you slaves to Aqua Net. Though it wouldn't be such a bad idea. Just imagine starting your evening with a warm spinach salad, followed by a quick trim, some surf and turf, and end it all with highlights and cheesecake. A tawny port and a perm? Friends, it doesn't get much more Dallas than that.

But, alas, The Place at Perry's doesn't do curl -n- dries. Instead, it does steak and seafood exceedingly well in a comfortable yet handsome setting. Co-owner Amie Bergus named Perry's after Perry E. Esping, the father of her business partner Bill Esping. Perry was a man who longed to find a restaurant with excellent food and service and that treated him as if he owned the place.

Okay, that last part if from the restaurant's press release, and normally I don't fall for such blatant blather. But some of that PR hokum must have inspired the staff at The Place at Perry's. From the valets to the waiters to the waterboys, these people are nice. Really nice. On our first visit, not one, not two, but four hostesses greeted us, helped us off with our coats, and showed us to the bar while our table was being prepared. Though the house was packed, the hostess asked if we preferred a table or a booth - highly unusual for 8:30 on a Saturday night. If given the choice, take the high-back leather booths. They're intimate, comfy, and keep noise level to a mild roar.

The Place at Perry's resides in the old Ruggeri's spot, and they've transformed it into a manly charmer, full of sophistication minus the pretense. The space is small, but a vaulted ceiling in the center dining area keeps The Place at Perry's from feeling constrained. Warm tan walls, oil table lights, and subdued lighting add to the intimate appeal.

Much like The Place at Perry's itself, the menu reflects everything a classic steakhouse should be. It's all here: shrimp cocktail, blue cheese iceberg salad, New York strip, and creamed spinach. There's nothing particularly surprising about co-owner/executive chef Travis Henderson's offerings. Of the appetizers, we adored the spinach and Parmesan spread topped with warm tomatoes. It's a dish you can get at almost any chain restaurant, just not done as well as Perry's soothing version. Thick-cut onion rings and crab cakes were also delicious. But the most intriguing starter - beef tips roasted in brandy-peppercorn sauce - was a bit tough.

Perhaps the most startling menu item was a salad - not for originality but for sheer volume. Aptly named The Place at Perry's Magnum, this behemoth is laden with tomatoes, hearts of palm, asparagus, toasted pecans, Maytag blue cheese, various greens, and champagne vinaigrette. It's hard not to like a common salad so hearty and full of flavor. The other choices - Caesar, spinach, blue cheese iceberg and beefsteak tomato with mozzarella - are typical steakhouse fodder, though fine fodder they are.

One of the most popular entrée choices is, unfortunately, my least favorite: the Southern-fried rib-eye. True, it's a Texas tradition to deep fry meats and slather them in gravy. The problem with a rib-eye is that it doesn't have the grit to hold up under heavy breading and a ladle of thick, cream gravy. The Place at Perry's chicken-fry is an admirable piece of work - crisp and peppery - but the meat is all wrong.

Nothing was wrong, however, with the prime filet mignon. Juicy, flavorful, and 12 ounces, it was a memorable cut, as were the double-cut lamb chops, property charred and sweetened by rosemary demi-glaze. The lamb was a tad tough but the bold flavor overcame its shortcomings. Of the seafood selections, French-fried prawns were the table favorite, though the accompanying side of fried potatoes disappointed: three enormous, dull, doughy planks. A better side would have been haricots verts with sautéed onions or roasted mushrooms simmered in port with garlic. Of course, in true steakhouse sense, sides are sold a la carte.

On the other hand, bucking the steakhouse trend, The Place at Perry's wine list is sensible, offering everything from pricey Opus One to reasonable Sterling reds. And its by-the-glass options are deep and plentiful. It makes it that much easier to raise a glass to Perry - whomever he may be - and toast his steakhouse. It's upscale yet relaxed and hospitable from first to last course.

High Steak Stakes: Amie Bergus beats the boys at their own red-meat game with
the refined The Place at Perry's
By June Naylor

Restaurateur Amie Bergus is one of the few women in Dallas playing a guys' game, but she's doing it as well as - if not better than - her male competitors. Bergus is co-owner of a new, swanky shrine to great steaks, and she manages to give it a pretty touch.

Most of the fabulous Dallas beef palaces are masculine to the core, but The Place at Perry's, which Bergus opened late last year, includes thoughtful elements that told me a woman was involved. Wood floors mix with carpet to make the restaurant more quiet than most, and intimacy is found in booths with curved, high backs.

On each table is a serve-yourself jar of olives, with dainty condiment forks. It seems like something a woman would think of.

With her co-owner and executive chef, Travis Hernderson, Bergus has wrought an elegant, hearty menu that will easily snag a good balance of male and female diners. Like most restaurants of this genre, The Place at Perry's prices are suited to diners who like to spend lavishly on meals.

My evening at The Place at Perry's started off with a lovely bowl of mussels ($8), which my dinner guest pronounced as good as any she's had on many trips to Belgium. Roasted and served in a pool of broth with lemon, garlic, wine and fresh sprigs of thyme, these were as meaty and plump as could be. A good accompaniment was the Caesar salad ($6), which bore just the right balance of garlic, lemon, romano cheese and anchovy.

Our entrees bordered on perfection. The thick, juicy piece of Chilean Sea Bass ($26) was coated in crunchy panko (Japanese bread crumbs), sauteed and glazed in a friendly blend of asian chiles and sugar. The steamed broccoli, which we subbed for the proffered potatoes, was pretty and crisp, yet oddly devoid of flavor.

Big enough for two meals, the veal chop ($32) was exceptionally tender - if rather fatty on one side. It's fresh rosemary flavor was lovely, and the side of roasted wild and button mushrooms ($7), which were laced in olive oil, port wine, garlic, onion and perhaps a dash of cayenne, enthralled us.

The latter entrees were well complemented by a glass of Stonesteet Cabernet ($13), a rich 1997 vintage from the Alexander Valley.

The Place at Perry's, I should note, is particularly dark, which makes romantics happy. Bergus, ever the smart proprietor, thinks of everyone: her servers always have a pen light at the ready.