Keens Steakhouse opened in 1885, the same year the Statue of Liberty moved into town. The chops at this Midtown institution are still reliably great, though you really come here to time travel. Nowhere in Manhattan is history more palpable—assuming you aren’t nimble enough to evade museum security guards and scale the spine of a T. Rex. Plus no museum has ever served us a massive, majestic mutton chop. Over the past 140 years, Keens has passed through many hands—most recently into those of the owner of Rainforest Cafe and Bubba Gump Shrimp, among many other enterprises. On our four visits since the sale, the staff and long-time general manager were quick to reassure diners that for now it’s business as usual. So far, there are no plans to replace the moose head mounted over a fireplace with a Rainforest Cafe animatronic. Not that Keens needs additional bells and whistles. In the sprawling restaurant’s multiple dining rooms, which feel like interconnected burrows, you’ll see things you’d never encounter anywhere else: an embroidered tribute to “Lady Nicotine,” a very well-aged “dinosaur sirloin.” As you crack through the charred surface of your hash brown like a dinnertime crème brûlée, you might glance up to see the bloodied playbill Abraham Lincoln was (supposedly) holding when shot. Most striking of all are the 45,000 clay pipes that line the low ceilings. You can almost smell the tobacco smoke. There’s an uncanny sense of connection with those long-ago patrons, knowing that you’re sitting in the same seat, biting into the same two-inch-thick piece of well-marbled mutton—the kind of dish you’d be hard-pressed to find elsewhere in our current century. Keens sweetly elevates the major events of your own small life to historical importance: a new job, a retirement, the birth of your firstborn, or your firstborn’s firstborn. It’s also a favorite of corporate card-brandishing dealmakers and tourists with freshly JFK-tagged suitcases, but neither undermine the atmosphere. There's also no need to wait for your next milestone. The walk-in-only bar is a wonderfully casual—and still very cozy—way to escape the modern world. There, the rack of hard-boiled eggs is still complimentary, the clock on the wall still runs about 10 minutes slow, and you’re guaranteed to find someone drinking a perfect dry gin martini by noon every weekday. In a city where the cost of a pizza slice climbs in tandem with the price of a subway swipe, Keens is one of very few constants, at least for now. Go raise a glass to all the carnivores who preceded you, and all those yet to come.