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CHOPS IS A RESTAURANT in need of a large dose of lithium. It is bi-polar. I never know what to expect from it.

Sometimes a meal there, usually a late lunch, rates among the best dining in the city. The steaks appear to have been grilled just for me, as if I were a 20-year regular, and every bite I could want has been magically figured out before-hand. My mind subsequently read, every detail of the service — from the starched steward jackets to the backroom boys attitude of the nearly all-male staff — drips with a knowing, understated pride.

Jenni Girtman/AJC (ENLARGE)
Lump crab cocktail is a recommended non-steak dish at Chops.
Jenni Girtman/AJC (ENLARGE)
Chops steakhouse serves meaty, juicy cuts of beef, including a 12-ounce New York strip served a brandy pepper sauce.
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CHOPS 70 W. Paces Ferry Road, N.W. Overall rating: Food: Classic steakhouse dining, with creamed spinach, colossal mushrooms, even more colossal steaks and seafood, fried lobster tails (why would you do this to lobster? It makes it taste like a chicken finger), chopped salads and singed coffee. Service: Waiters outfitted in starched steward jackets hustle to provide your every whim unless they get too busy. When that happens, they forget about you and lulls between courses can last entirely too long, smiles disappear into curt responses, and you wait forever for your check. Setting: Mahogany and ebony ensconce a tiered dining room flanked by an open kitchen. The ceiling drips with alabaster dome-shaped chandeliers. The feel? Masculine is a word that comes to mind. Address, telephone: 70 W. Paces Ferry Road, N.W. 404-262-2675 Hours: Lunch Monday through Friday from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., dinner Monday through Thursday from 5:30 to 11 p.m., Friday and Saturday from 5:30 to midnight and Sunday from 5:30 to 10 p.m. Price range: Expensive and more expensive: appetizers are $10 to $16; soups, salads and sides are $6 to $10. The steaks are $30 to $72. Chops chicken and seafood are $18 to $42. Credit cards: Visa, MasterCard, American Express, Discover, Diners Club Recommended Dishes: Bone-in rib-eye steak with Pointe Reyes blue cheese and shallots, creamed spinach, wedge salad, lump crab meat cocktail Full bar or wine/beer: Yes Reservations: Accepted Vegetarian selections: You're joking, right? Actually, if you stick to sides, you could have a hardy vegetarian meal: Lyonnaise potatoes, creamed spinach. Children: Not the type of place I'd recommend for the under-10 set Parking: Valet or on-street Wheelchair access: Yes Smoking: In the bar area only Noise level: Medium to high Patio: No Takeout: Yes, and the steaks are sold raw to go as well, so you can cook at home KEY TO RATINGS OUTSTANDING: Sets the standard for fine dining in the region. EXCELLENT: One of the best in the Atlanta area. VERY GOOD: Merits a drive if you're looking for this kind of dining. GOOD. A worthy addition to its neighborhood, but food may be hit and miss. RESTAURANTS THAT DO NOT meet these criteria may be rated FAIR or POOR.

But at other times, when the restaurant gets a little busy, a dark storm overtakes the dining room. The waiters act as if the oversized alabaster chandeliers have given way to rain, sending them scurrying about trying not to get wet. It's at these peak times when the outdated menu's underbelly is exposed, becoming as obvious as the dreaded elephant in the room.

To be fair, let's admit that all great steakhouses have dated menus, dredged up from some dusty corner of 1978. Actually, classic steakhouses like Chops deliberately date all the way back to the turn of the last century, when this kind of dining reigned supreme at places like the famous Delmonico's in New York and New York reigned supreme in dining.

Today some of them — Bone's is the perfect example — survive how outmoded they are because they're so square they're hip. That's the charm. The mere notion of shrimp cocktails, sides of creamed vegetables, wedge salads, or anything served up "colossal" sized is the whole appeal of a vintage steakhouse. Combine that with stiff drinks and an atmosphere charged with enough testosterone to put Viagra out of business, and you begin to get the picture.

And when wedge salads and Lyonnaise potatoes taste this sublime, it doesn't really matter that they remind you of the days when you listened to the Bee Gees on 8-track tapes. Thickly cut and simply presented, both are forkfuls of man-sized satisfaction: The potatoes are buttery and unapologetically fat, crispy on the outside and starchy toward the center, with flecks of bottled herbs. The wedge? Boston Bibb seems a little frilly, but go with it. Skip the tomato, it's mealy. Keep the bacon. And the brawny blue cheese dressing. Oh yeah.

This place is not for wimps. Or for those with weak stomachs or clogged arteries.

There are basically two things to care about on the menu: big steaks and bigger steaks. Big steaks would be the buttery little marbled number like prime New York strip that's served in a 12- or 16-ounce cut. Or the velvety filet mignon in 8-, 10- or 14-ounce portions.

Bigger steaks would be a Porterhouse cut, prime and dry aged, the size of your head, only heavier: 48 ounces (it's supposed to be shared, puhleeese, people). Too big? I tried a bone-in rib eye for 22 ounces (you don't see those too often anymore) that tasted like, well, uh. . . the best thing I ever tasted: Meaty. Juicy. Smoky. A little charred. Buttery. Rich. Woodsy.

Now let's imagine that we just don't get enough fat and cholesterol in our diet. Let's imagine the rib eye smothered in Pointe Reyes blue cheese, a little warm, with bits of bacon and sauteed shallots. (Yes, a saute would certainly mean butter, which, yes, means more fat. Oh, someone stop me.)

It is this steak, with a light glass of Viognier and the lump crab cocktail, that makes the world stop. It makes me remember why I like dining out in the first place: I am pampered and refreshed. I am indulged to the point of distraction. I eat what I want and leave the rest for a doggie bag, because no one here cares or gives a second thought or downward glance to the notion of it.

To be this happy at Chops, I must adhere to my known favorites. If at any time I veer off course, to perhaps a foray into the unknown territory of colossal white mushrooms with butter and parsley or baked French escargot, I am extremely wary and ultimately disappointed, because they never measure up to steaks and crab.

And no matter how many times the waiters tell me the desserts are made on the premises, I have a hard time believing them. The New York-style cheesecake is the best of the lot — a creamy, devilishly tangy concoction that is just fine as long as you stay away from the crust, which gets too soggy. The red velvet cake is nothing more than chocolate cake with chocolate icing, and dried out chocolate cake with chocolate icing at that. Pooh.

Chops' atmosphere can be as comfortable a feeling as that rib-eye steak, or as uneasy and flavorless as those dreadful snails. It all depends on the night and where you are seated. There are tiers, and the bottom tier booths can make a girl uncomfortable after she's been sitting for a three-course meal. Even in high heels, my feet had trouble hitting the floor and I began to feel a little like Alice after eating the small pill. Not so upstairs, where I could practically fall asleep in a booth they are so downright cozy.

So you see the dilemma. Things at Chops can go either way. I can easily say Chops is the best restaurant in the city, as long as it's at 1:30 on a Tuesday, and I'm seated at table 64, and I'm drinking a glass of Viognier and I have you-know-who waiting on me and I order the rib eye, and the planets are aligned and . . .