In the cult of sybaritic excess, three vices take precedence over all others and, among the initiated, excite the most effusive debate. They are Scotch malt whisky, cigars, and the steak. In the latter instance, a few may argue in favor of the filet mignon or the bone-in rib eye as the choicest cut. But those aficionados whose devotion to red meat remains pure will agree that the porterhouse cut embodies the true spirit of excess, merging, as it does, around the delicately curved T-bone, the twin delights of the filet and sirloin. These initiates of indulgence also understand that, whatever the virtues of New York’s renowned establishments, Table 8 on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles has a lock on all that is best in beef. Granted, the porterhouse is not listed on the menu—one has to ask for it. But for sheer sublime satisfaction, Chef Govind Armstrong’s succulent preparation—which involves packing the steak in a mixture of savory herbs and rock salt, then broiling it at a high temperature—makes distant memories of the likes of Peter Luger, Del Frisco’s, or Manhattan Prime.