Amid mad-cow fears, rising beef prices and a shrinking supply of prime meat, who would have thought a high-end steakhouse would create a sensation on the tip of South Beach?

Leave it to the uncannily savvy restaurateur Myles Chefetz (Nemo, Big Pink, Shoji) to make it happen. He sourced superb, dry-aged beef from New York, commissioned a little-known designer to create a luxe look for the historic Brown Hotel and hired some of the area's most personable and professional servers to complete the clubby feel of this temple to high protein.

The talented Mike Sabin, who trained under Mark Militello among others, mans the stoves. Now just try getting a reservation. Saturday night prime times are booked through April. Even on a rainy Wednesday, we waited 30 minutes in the sleek bar for a table. (We passed on the cave-like upstairs -- great for a small private party but otherwise Siberia.)

The waiter put in our drink order and we contemplated the impressively varied wine list. Of the more than 200 bottles (not counting halves and magnums), just over a dozen are under $40 -- no surprise given what must surely be the highest dinner tab in town.

Enter the $18 sautéed Hudson Valley foie gras with a lovely, crisp, almost blackened crust but a bright pink center that was a bit too raw for my taste. Just-wilted watercress and spicy-sweet pineapple jam were superb accents.

The signature salad, a massive bowl of chopped romaine, spinach, hearts of palm, cucumber, carrot, celery, grape tomatoes and asparagus, was a masterpiece with its tangy green goddess dressing and hunks of smoked bacon. Count on sharing it with the entire table.

The yellowfin tuna tartare with monstrous cassava chips was tepid and timid despite peppery seasoning and a dainty quail egg garnish. Not so the main-course wild king salmon. It was grilled to medium-rare and served with a mound of caper-flavored whipped potatoes, all doused with a subtle lemon and asparagus nage.

But it was beef we came for. The 12-ounce filet mignon with its perfectly seared crust and juicy interior benefited from the optional Gorgonzola-flavored butter the waiter recommended. (Other flavors: truffle, garlic herb, foie gras, chipotle.)

The 22-ounce bone-in rib eye was tastier with a luscious, peppery hide, a gorgeously marbled center and a pink interior bursting with clear juices. Best of all was the whopping 48-ounce porterhouse for two. No adornments necessary for this bad boy.

The Kobe beef burger -- hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, get the sautéed mushrooms -- is as good as it ought to be for $30, but how about throwing in the fries? Eight bucks is steep for hot spuds, especially when the waiter promised them for free.

Among other sides, the vanilla-flavored whipped sweet potatoes were luscious and dessert-like, the scalloped potatoes unfortunately milky rather than creamy and the sautéed broccoli rabe perfectly crisp, its pepperiness accentuated by chili-lemon olive oil.

After a splurge like this you can't walk away without dessert -- especially when they're by one of the nation's finest pastry chefs, Hedy Goldsmith. We passed on Key lime pie with huckleberry sauce and bananas Foster cheesecake with rum-toffee sauce in favor of the rustic Granny Smith apple pie with walnut streusel and caramel sauce plus an order of cookies -- only two? -- in an avalanche of powdered sugar served with three scoops of rich, creamy chocolate ice cream.

Nothing subtle about these sweet conclusions -- just perfect for a knock-down, drag-out meal we look forward to again. That is if we can get in -- and get someone else to pay.