It’s hard not to feel like one of the ‘good ol’ boys’ when you walk into Morton’s, a raucous haunt tucked away on the fourth floor of the Mandarin Oriental, where men come to loosen their ties, get drunk on wine and stuff themselves with oversized portions of meat and potatoes. It’s much more charming than it sounds – rich mahogany tables covered in crisp white linens dot the restaurant, while deep banquettes frame the outer edge. Dim mood lighting that typically encourages hushed conversations and footsy has the opposite effect here: it’s all the better to shout to friends coming in the door and to ignore any spills on the table. If it sounds distinctly American, that’s because it is – this is one of five international branches of an award-winning chain that originated in Chicago 30 years ago.

Left: Cajun Ribeye. Right: Double cut filet mignon

Morton’s boasts the ‘best steak anywhere’, which seems a hard tagline to live up to. Steak is certainly the main attraction, where diners often eschew an appetiser to save room for the entrée. Beware the seductive powers of the large complimentary loaf of freshly baked onion bread that starts the meal; it’s so fluffy and melt-in-your-mouth delicate, half of it disappears before you’ve even ordered. The baked five-onion soup complemented the onion bread nicely, with its thick coating of melted Swiss cheese keeping a lid on the richly flavoured broth. A glass of cabernet sauvignon chosen from the 12- page wine list cleansed the palate before moving on to the mains.

When it comes to a cut of meat, one failsafe indicator of a chef’s ability is whether the steak is cooked to your liking. In two sittings and four chances to get it wrong, Morton’s prepared the steak perfectly every time. An 8oz single-cut filet mignon (a ‘smaller steak’) cooked medium and prepared simply in its own juices was tender and savoury, while a 14oz New York strip steak cooked medium rare was juicy, with just the right amount of blood trickling onto the plate. The porterhouse was enjoyable, but when cooked medium a bit dry and chewy. The standout though, by far, was a Chicago-style bone-in ribeye steak cooked medium rare – the cut on the bone had the most flavour and was so tender it practically liquefied in your mouth.

In between bites, we sampled the mashed potatoes – smooth, but a bit bland – and a jumbo Idaho baked potato, which was the length of the plate and big enough for two. The potato alone wasn’t exciting until the server came around with a tin each of sour cream and bacon bits, delivering both with a bit of sass. ‘Mmm, that looks healthy,’ my dining partner said of the generous dollop of sour cream slopping over the edge of the potato. ‘Oh, well, let me make it healthier,’ the waiter replied with a conspiratorial smile, dumping another spoonful on top. The sour cream was so thick that when it dripped off the plate, it clung to the edge and held steady just centimetres from the tabletop.

Also notable was Morton’s legendary hot chocolate cake, topped with fresh raspberries and powdered sugar, and oozing melted chocolate fudge. Topping off the meal, with steak that admittedly was some of the best we’ve ever had, was excellent service. A rotating line-up of wait-staff was friendly and informative, but never obtrusive – tact that’s impressive for a team used to serving large parties of businessmen, couples enjoying an anniversary dinner and families celebrating birthdays (we heard ‘Happy Birthday’ four times in one night). It’s hard not to have a good time in Morton’s, as long as you can swallow the price tag.