THE MEAT OF THE MATTER : Rib Eye, New York Strip or Porterhouse: At Ruth’s Chris, Beefed-Up Fare Is Big Time

And where are you off to tonight?” my mother asked, just as we were about to hang up.

“I’m going to eat a prime New York strip lavished in butter,” I told her with some glee.

“Oh, lord,” groaned the daughter of a cattle rancher, who’s been on a strict low-fat diet for weeks. “That sounds so good!”

It is, believe me, it is.

Ruth’s Chris was the place, part of the New Orleans-based steakhouse chain. Rebuilt after a 1990 fire, the Beverly Hills location is particularly handsome. The owners have wisely eschewed the Neanderthal caveman or overbearing men’s-club look of some other steakhouses, settling instead for warm wood wainscoting, frosted-glass light fixtures and graceful curved leather booths. Banished are the old-timey photos and memorabilia of the standard steakhouse; the walls are mercifully plain. Even the flowers are not what you’d expect: orchids.

Slightly elevated, the posh semicircular booths seat four comfortably and feel positively regal for two. To one side of the bar is a narrow dining room for smokers--booths that are considerably quieter than the main nonsmoking dining room.

Five of us recently squeezed into a booth in the bar to indulge in an orgy of meat eating. The menu at Ruth’s Chris, short on appetizers and other diversions, cuts quickly to the chase. We ordered the humongous Porterhouse--three pounds for two people or six pounds for four--the rib-eye, the New York strip and the filet, which just about exhausts the steak selection. All you need to know is the cut you prefer and how you like it cooked.

At the top of the menu is a crib list of steak-cooking terms, as the restaurant defines them: rare (very red, cool center); medium rare (red, warm center); medium (pink center). Does anyone ever venture beyond medium rare? I couldn’t help inquiring. “We have people come in and order well done,” our server admitted. For that, you might as well cook a supermarket steak at home. But I noted that steaks here come out a tad more cooked than I envision from the descriptions. Rare seems to veer a little toward the medium rare, and medium rare is more cooked than I like. On two occasions, my steak, ordered rare, had a warm center, not a cool one.

The Porterhouse, cut off the bone, charred on the outside and juicy rare within, was a marvelous piece of meat. The filet is excellent; however good, though, I prefer a firmer cut of meat, such as the New York strip, the most flavorful of the cuts. That night we ordered the lamb chops, too, purely for science. These were perfectly tender, double-cut lamb chops, which I would have enjoyed with great relish anyplace else.

Steak aficionados can argue endlessly about the virtues of Arnie Morton’s steaks versus those at the Palm or Ruth’s Chris. I happen to favor the latter’s prime, aged beef. And the way Ruth’s Chris cooks the steaks (charbroiled at extremely high temperatures) seems to seal in the maximum juices. The Palm’s informal atmosphere is fun, but I wouldn’t go back for the steaks or the monstrous lobsters. At Arnie Morton’s, the poor waiter waves plastic-wrapped steaks and live lobsters in front of your face, all the while keeping up a frantic, scripted spiel, an embarrassingly hokey spectacle. And of the three main contenders, Ruth’s Chris definitely has the best side dishes.

Sometimes I like to start with the thick, chilled slices of tomato and onion slathered with Italian or remoulade dressing, but the Caesar salad is disappointing, weighed down with strands of cheese and ordinary croutons. The French-fried onion rings, big as bracelets, are just OK. The shoestring potatoes are quite good, the cottage fries not so good if you forget to order them extra crispy. A fine-textured baked potato is served with all the fixings: crumbled bacon, sour cream, butter and grated cheddar.

I can have a fine solo dining experience here, too. I’ll usually start with a martini (somehow, it seems like that kind of place) and proceed to the shrimp cocktail: five fat shrimp, chilled, with a cocktail sauce that packs some punch. The steak arrives swiftly after. When they say sizzling here, they are serious. The plate is so hot, by all rights it should be in melt-down. And yes, there is an audible sizzle and the enticing aroma of butter and charred meat.

I have two favorites here: the Porterhouse or, if I can’t persuade anyone else to join me, the New York strip. I’ll add either the creamed spinach or the whole sauteed mushrooms, each about the size of a walnut, with the unmistakable flavor of the forbidden: butter. And just recently, the restaurant started serving garlic mashed potatoes, laced with a few homespun lumps.

And maybe, just maybe, if I can make it to dessert, I’ll have a bit of the moist, straightforward bread pudding in whiskey sauce.

I wish only that the middle-of-the-road wine list offered more choices of the same caliber as the beef. There are few exciting selections, and vintage years are not given for all. When we’re talking steak, we’re talking red wine. For a splurge, the big, rich 1981 Niebaum Coppola Cabernet ($58) or the 1990 Jordan ($43, also offered by the glass at $8). A less expensive choice is the 1991 Ridge (York Creek) Zinfandel ($20).

All those wines hold their own against major meat--a subject my mom knows well. She understands how much marbling and aging have to do with flavor. If it’s not a great prime steak, it’s simply not worth the calories. I’m not going to tempt her, but next time she’s ready to break out for a once-in-a-diet indulgence, I know exactly where I’m going to lead her astray.

Ruth’s Chris Steak House, 224 S. Beverly Drive, Beverly Hills; (310) 859.8744. Dinner only. Dinner for two, food only (side dishes not included), $49.50-$104. Smoking section. Corkage: $10.