Where to Flank, a lavish steakhouse overlooking Route 128 in Waltham.

What for Stiff drinks, shellfish towers, and meat platters.

The scene Late-night at the newsroom circa 1962. The bar is lined with backslapping gents, sleeves rolled to the elbows, trenches slung over chairs. Each table has a small flickering lamp capable of making even the most pasty-faced New Englander resemble George Clooney. Servers sport dapper jackets and ties. A portrait of Ben Franklin looms in the dim dining room. One can imagine him coming to life after the lights go down, plucking leftover beef from plates. The women’s room offers a proper couch, ideal for hiding from a boorish date. There are but two signs of modern life: Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love,’’ playing on repeat, and the fluorescent lights of Market Basket in the middle distance.

What you’re eating The restaurant calls itself the “new American beefsteak.’’ In turn-of-the-century lore, the beefsteak tradition involved hungry men (and men alone) devouring platters of meat with their bare hands. Flank welcomes women — and also has utensils! The menu is big, beefy, and retro. There are soups (she-crab, $14) and toasts (chipped beef, $13); steaks ($34 and up) are dressed in old-time style, with Roquefort butter, Hollandaise, or Béarnaise. Live large with a shellfish tower for eight ($95), festooned with local seafood, lump crab, canapés, and of course toasts. Or opt for a family-style Beefsteak dinner (starting at $85 per person), a free-for-all with salads, soups, charcuterie, canapés, vegetables, and sliced flank, topped off with iced milk and sweets.

Care for a drink? There’s an encyclopedic list of bourbon, whiskey, and rye; cocktails are a uniform $14. (A server says that Manhattans, no surprise, are the way to go.) There’s also a respectable list of draught and bottled beer (Jack’s Abby, Wormtown).

Overheard Smooth talkers; giddy jokers; Elvis. “I just need a minute of your time, and it will be worth it,’’ a slick man tells an older couple. Two fresh-faced guys in identical black glasses, clearly delighted to be out on the town, high-five each other. “We just made the same joke!’’ A silver fox takes his seat at the bar and orders a martini, a refugee from a Cheever novel who doesn’t want to go home yet. Elvis blasts from the speakers. “I’m just a hunk-a-hunk-a burnin’ love!’’

74 Tower Road (at Main Street), Waltham, 781-893-5265, www.flankwaltham.com

Kara Baskin can be reached at kcbaskin@gmail.com.