Like Las Vegas, the interior environment at McNamara’s is completely isolated from the world outside. Inside the Dublin steakhouse, the permanent ochre dusk is punctuated only by a constellation of table lamps and the lunar glow of hundreds of backlit bottles at the bar. It’s a magical hour, the McNamara’s hour, when martini follows martini until it’s time to cut up some meat. Summon one of the cuts of choice Angus steak, wet-aged for up to a month until buttery and seared until crusty (the New York and ribeye excel). Cast aside all the trappings — the sauces, the cheeses, the smashed potatoes — until it’s just you, face to face with your beef, armed only with cold gin and a butter knife. Timeless.
Readers’ Pick for Best Steakhouse: Outback Steakhouse
