The Chop House is located at 1003 Town Center in Charleston’s downtown mall, with an outside entrance off Clendenin Street. As we let the door close behind us, the giant wine cruvinet in the entryway and the abundance of tasteful dark wood paneling told me immediately that our vacation-casual dress (I was in jeans and a gauze blouse, my husband in jeans and a plain grey tee shirt) would be out of place.

 Despite our attire, the elegantly-suited maitre d’ warmly accepted us and showed us through the sizeable-yet-intimate dining room (how do they do that?), with its graceful chandeliers and walls festooned with quirky and obviously original paintings, to our table, where my chair was pulled out for me and my linen napkin was deposited in my lap (my husband did not receive this treatment, making me feel exceptionally girly). We were given menus (mine did have prices, incidentally) and the maitre d’ whisked away the extra two place settings from our four-top and bade us enjoy our meal.

 We had just enough time to glance at the menus and confirm our suspicions that this eatery was out of our typical price range (there was, for example, a 40-dollar appetizer, but most prices were a little less stratospheric) before we were greeted by our server, a slender, blond bespectacled man in his 30s who was the very picture of efficiency and charm.

 He departed to fill our drink order, keeping to himself his likely disappointment at my Diet Coke and my husband’s ice water with such a lovely wine list available (away it went, with the wine glasses). His absence was promptly filled by a young dark-haired gentleman who filled our waiting water glasses. I asked the water-pourer if his restaurant was related to the Chop House that we have in Greensboro. It is not, apparently, but he said that it is part of a larger chain. I wonder if that explains its presence in the mall.

 When the server returned with my soda, he asked, “Is this the first time we’ve had the pleasure of your company?”, which contrasted somewhat with the query of the motherly waitress at lunch the day before in Pilot Mountain, NC: “Y’all ever been here before?”

 Biting back my first response of “Good Lord, are we dressed like we’ve been here before?”, I acknowledged that we had not, uh, graced them with our presence at any prior date, whereupon he explained that all of the beef served at the Chop House is rated USDA Prime (only 2% of beef gets that rating) and wet-aged on the property for 30 days, the steaks are hand-cut and the seafood is flown in fresh daily from Foley’s, outside of Boston.

 “You could serve sushi here,” I remarked, trying to make sophisticated banter in an attempt to convey our total familiarity with establishments in this price range. Sad. But what was not sad was the food, which lived up to every promise made by the server: I had sea scallops partnered with crème fraiche mashed potatoes and accompanied by a red wine reduction. It was truly heavenly—the scallops were very large and exquisitely tender, seasoned and grilled perfectly. The potatoes were smooth and creamy, with a hint of bacon. I was transported. My entrée was priced at 29.95, which seems steep at first blush, but I got a wonderful and very substantial meal for that price, and I was quite satisfied. My husband ordered the special, a fresh grouper filet, which was served blackened with a side of asparagus spears atop a bed of wild rice and accompanied by a creamy lobster sauce. He is a chef himself, and is generally unimpressed with food (I refer to him among friends and family as The Food Critic), but he does appreciate a nice meal, once it clears his extremely high bar. He didn’t exactly gush over his food, but he definitely found it good. We did tasties, and each of us preferred our own entrée, but I did think his was excellent, as well.

 We were given plenty of time to dine at our leisure, and when the server asked if we would be interested in dessert, we decided we were (it’s interesting how even after a bountiful meal, you always seem to still have room in the “dessert compartment” of your stomach). We normally share a dessert because most standard eateries have some sort of odd belief that if they don’t give you a slice of cake as big as your head, you will immediately feel ripped off and possibly fling it at the server, whereas many upscale bistros will present you with a dab of something next to a spot of something and surmounted artfully with a speck of something, the presentation of which is sublime and the price of which is inversely proportional to its heft. In light of the Chop House’s rarified atmosphere, devoted service and exquisite cuisine, we decided we’d better each order our own desserts: his was a tiramisu and mine a crème brulée, which came topped with berries and that perfect, blowtorched crackle.

 The desserts, which turned out to be unpretentiously substantial, were quite fabulous, although The Food Critic noted that he would have preferred a stronger presence of coffee liqueur in the cake. I personally like a warm crème brulée and this one was cool, but that’s the way it is traditionally served, so I can hardly whine about it. It tasted great, and my husband did enjoy his tiramisu, as well.

 Our bill totaled around before the tip, which I thought was quite reasonable. But remember, we did not drink—if you want a decent bottle of wine, expect to increase that amount by at least . Nevertheless, for two entrées, two desserts and soft beverages, we felt we received an excellent value. I would highly recommend the Chop House to anyone in search of fine dining in the Charleston, West Virginia area. Bon appetit!