Strip steak at Robert's.

It took us 45 minutes to get our order together at Robert's, the upscale mezzanine restaurant at the Penthouse Executive Club. The first time our waiter stopped by the table, we were adolescently engrossed in the fleshy scene below, confused about what the expectant guy with the pen and paper could possibly want with us at a time like this. The second time he came by, we pretended to be looking at the menu and asked for a few more minutes. By his fourth visit we were prepared, but had no patience for his trifling follow-up questions. "Just bring us some goddamn food!" we wanted to yell. The near-naked ladies are professional distractions at Robert's. And they are everywhere.

"Guess who?" said a little voice as two hands blocked my view of the menu, shortly after the waiter's second visit.

"Huh?"

"Guess who?"

"Um."

"Here's a hint: think candy."

Candy?strip club?candy?strip club?

"Are you the Hershey's Kisses lady?"

"No," said the voice. "I'm a chocolate bunny!"

Then the chocolate bunny plopped down on my lap, devastating all my fragile progress toward an appetizer. She stayed put for a half hour, hand-feeding me my jumbo shrimp cocktail, showing me her nipples and teasing me that I was no fun. When I agreed that I was no fun and told her I'd rather not be fed like an invalid, she told me to relax and enjoy the "total Penthouse experience."

Welcome to Robert's, where it is hard to separate this "Penthouse experience" from the restaurant's non-bootylicious culinary virtues, which are considerable.

The chef at Robert's is Adam Perry Lang, previously of Le Cirque and Chanterelle. The beef is dry-aged and kept in a climate-, humidity- and air-velocity-controlled room; it is among the city's best. (The main dance stage is similarly velocity-controlled: A fan at the front adds windswept drama to featured performers.)

The specialty side of the house is the creamed spinach. Everyone?managers, waiters, bartenders and strippers alike? recommend it without prompting. It is exceptional. Likewise, the wine list is impressive and high-quality, topping out with a '92 Chateau Petrus Pomerol priced at $1250.

All of which adds up to a worthwhile dive into decadence. The only problem is that the music from the stage below tends to overwhelm the restaurant and get in the way of speaking to anyone you might be eating or flirting with. But when you go downstairs and get a 10-minute lap dance from a woman you fantasize about in vivid and graphic detail for the next week, such concerns seem as far away as the day your voice broke.

?James Griffith