Just as Pappas Bros. was cleaving its way into the North Texas steak house storm, the Steakhouse ran a series of sonically sensual radio ads. Its dry-aged steaks splintered silence with the sputtering hiss of rendering beef fat. Cigar tips kindled with the scratch and pffft of a stick match. Cognacs sloshed in clanking crystal. Much of that swirled down the drain of Dallas history--the cigar part, anyway. The cognac isn't gone, but it isn't the same without a heady Partagas fume. The steak, however, remains: rich, silky, seasoned simply but with mind-bending effectiveness, its nutty dry-aged aftertaste lingering long enough to be gently sluiced away by a strapping, gripping Cabernet or Barolo. Service, too, is seamlessly orchestrated. Notice how the valet plucks the ticket stub from your windshield as he hands you the keys. Prime stuff, that.