Can we put a moratorium on opening upscale steakhouses in Dallas? Especially imports from other cities? I’m a homer, so I entered Perry’s with a big cow chip on my shoulder. I was ready to be disappointed, and it did a good job of fulfilling my expectations. The music wafting from the bar was corny. The guy at the piano was singing old Rat Pack songs. The split-level dining room with wood walls and dramatic drapes feels like a Vegas hotel ballroom and makes the perfect setting for over-the-top, showy service. Many of the dishes—like the “Perry’s famous” pork chop—are carved or flambéed tableside. It takes two people to handle the 6-inch hunk of pork that includes the baby back ribs and a large slab of the center cut of the chop. One touch of the knife and the whole tower tumbled into a mass of soft, juicy meat. Our waiter explained that it takes five days to prepare the meat, which is smoked over pecan for 12 hours before being slow roasted. Soft and smoky, the pork melts in your mouth, but the excessive size of the portion was revolting to me. The restaurant offers more than just Prime steaks. The kitchen branches out with turtle soup, braised beef short ribs, and a kabob with filet mignon, lobster, and shrimp. The flaming desserts are absurd. Our server made a dramatic display of pouring brown sugar, rum, cinnamon, and nutmeg into a saucepan of bananas. We weren’t impressed. The ingredients were premeasured in small plastic cups. The show was as corny as the music in the bar.

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