Lucky Strike

"It's sort of a who's-who crowd, isn't it?" Connie said. It's the same way at lunch, I assured her. I've never gone into the place when some demi-celebrity wasn't holding court; I even saw a normally reticent actor turn unexpectedly gregarious one afternoon. Was there something in his veggie burger?

There was definitely something — most likely chili and cumin — rubbed into Bob's hanger steak, which Connie and I liked more than he did. "It's chewy," he said, sulking. Not true, though the grainy texture of this cut of beef can be off-putting to some. Connie loved every bite of a particularly fluffy hunk of pan-seared halibut, splashed with an amber garlic broth and sided with asparagus, artichokes and mashed potatoes. I indulged in several bites of the steak and the halibut before tackling my own dinner, slices of thyme-marinated pork tenderloin dripping with a delicate wine-and-herb sauce.

After eating every morsel on my own plate and a good part of my companions' dinners, I couldn't fathom dessert. But Bob and Connie fancied a bit of chocolate as a finale. Not chef Hanna's flaky profiteroles blanketed with thick chocolate-Kahlua sauce — which would have been my choice — but the chocolate pot au crème, a creamy custard baked in a lidded cup so that it's satiny smooth like crème brûlée, its sugar-crusted cousin.

I couldn't resist the temptation to poke my own spoon into the rich cocoa concoction, but Connie was possessive of the confection. "This is about the best thing I've ever had in my long, decadent life," she said.

The best things in life aren't always free, and at Room 39, the desserts run about six bucks each. But there's no gambling on whether the food will have an emotionally satisfying payout. Room 39 is a lucky number.