The steak: Big enough to choke a horse. The bar was too dark to allow close inspection, which might be an advantage. But while texture was wildly inconsistent from one bite to the next, I was giddy at the size of the cut alone. I could barely move my jaw enough to tell one dancer after another that a lap dance was not in my near future. As I crammed the last bite down my gullet, a dancer wearing glasses told me that the bartender, who doubles as a performer on weeknights, had cooked the steak herself.