Thanks to a gladly purchased Groupon, and some very carnivorous tendencies, this past Monday eve was spent sipping fancy aperitifs we can’t pronounce and tackling cuts of meat larger than the average newborn.

True, The Prime Rib can feel a bit stuffy and dated, what with its tuxedo-ed waiters, and blue-haired patrons. The menu doesn’t boast an array of trendy cooking styles or a Rolodex of season offerings. That’s why God created Woodberry. But when you want to feel as though you’re one Manhattan and an escargot away from bedding Don Draper, you cross your fingers, check your account balance, and hightail it to North Calvert St.