Although the blazing letters reading “Smoke House” always acted like a beacon to me each time I made the drive to pillage Burbank’s Target and Ikea, I actually went to The Smoke House on the recommendation of my friend’s dad from Iowa, who received his recommendation from an elderly LA ex-pat living in small-town Iowa. The nostalgic restaurant is one of red half-moon booths, piano bar, and aged steaks—the kind of place that used to be synonymous with glamour but now reads more like kitsch. Still, the lovely service (one of its mottos is “Where every diner is treated like a star”), generous portions, and choice cuts of beef let me forget the restaurant’s cheesy elements. Be warned, though: entrancing but scarily large onion rings adorn many entrees—very yummy. The Smoke House’s “World’s Greatest” bread sticks are glazed with a crumbly, garlicy orange paste—sort of like a savory strudel. The restaurant’s website proclaims the eatery as “the largest purveyor of French bread west of the Mississippi.” It’s a dubious and odd proclamation, but I’ll buy it. The steakhouse also lays claim to the honor of being the place where Captain & Tennille were introduced/discovered (back when they were called The Dragons).