A few evenings ago, driven by a combination of Joyeux Noël, a Chicago reverie of Proustian dimensions, and a base, wintertime craving for charred red meat, I donned my gray flannel suit, hopped on a cable car, and met friends at Morton's. Our primary intent was to investigate the shop windows around Union Square, then take in a hearty meal to combat San Francisco's brand of upper-40s solstice chill. Unfortunately, one member of our dwindling band had a cold, another had to get... More >>>