Mooo... stakes out Beacon Hill

For diners eager to know the last words of their porterhouse, now there's Mooo . . ., which is lodged at the foot of the XV Beacon hotel. The up-up-upscale-minded owners - Commonwealth Restaurant Group, keepers of Mistral, Teatro, and Sorellina - have opted to salute the new restaurant's culinary subject. The walls hold large framed prints of cows and calves, and mounted on a wall toward the back are grooming bristles. It's simultaneously cute, crass, and classy - and weird enough to make you say, "I'll have the scallops," which you should since they're excellent.

Still, on the plates and among the staff, tastefulness abounds, as things in this part of town tend to. No. 9 Park is around the corner. The State House is down the street. And Beacon Hill is the sleepy hamlet Mooo . . ., more or less, calls home. This might explain why the staff is not taking your order in chaps and cowboy hats. A rodeo-themed steakhouse might be some other entrepreneur's dream. Until then, the waiters here look like waiters.

The space used to house the Federalist, a dimly lit restaurant where the prosecco seemed to shimmer against the wood. The old spot's oak-'n'-oil saloon vibe is gone. Mooo . . . is coated with a Greco-Roman glamour. Regardless of their actual ingredients, the surfaces seem made of alabaster and marble. (The least majestic thing about this place is the tiny flat-screen television hanging behind the long, accommodating bar; during October, its size and positioning makes some of the real estate there more valuable than other parts). For a lick of humor (assuming you don't find the cow motif funny), each chandelier has been wrapped in a giant off-orange lampshade, like a lite Claes Oldenburg tribute to Ikea.

Dining beneath the fixtures are assorted businesspeople and well-heeled neighborhood folks. Some of the regal older women suggest Carly Fiorina in 30 years. Some of the younger ones suggest an uptown night out for the ladies of the Bada Bing! On a recent busy evening at one of Mooo . . .'s private-enough back tables, two distinguished, if mysterious (they wore big sunglasses) older gentlemen dined with two very fit younger women, and the collection of taut, leathery skin promised that on some nights the steakhouse might double as a tannery. Otherwise, it's usually " 'Squawk Box' Eats a Meal."

And what they're eating runs the gamut from sort-of-exorbitant to are-you-kidding-me. The foie gras, which one morally conflicted din er called "meat butter" as she and a new friend lapped it up, may be inhumanely cultivated, but Kobe beef is inhumanely priced. Yes, welcome to Mooo . . ., where the Kobe sirloin is $130. If it's any consolation, the A1 sauce is free. (Seriously, the menu winkingly says there's no charge.) Instead, you might opt for the Kobe beef dumplings ($19), which come in a ginger soy sauce and make a tempting commercial for the pricier entree. The lobster and macaroni is also pretty heavenly. Even if the lobster is overcooked, the tubes of fresh pasta, delicious broth, and stray kernels of corn carry the seafood. Out of curiosity, someone ordered the clam chowder. It was a bland mistake. But if you're looking for clam chowder at a steakhouse, the joke might be on you.

Chateaubriand is big enough for two famished men and comes served in a skillet as a pile of succulent medallions. (On a second trip a week later, this entree had been dumped from the menu. Here's hoping for a comeback.) Corvina, a marvelous white fish infrequently served in these parts, was moist and meaty with crisp briny skin. The aforementioned scallops seem historically large and the corn-potato hash beneath them is historically good. The woman who ordered them tried to sub out the hash for a side of mashed sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Now is a good time to thank the kitchen for making her change her mind.

Somehow dessert at Mooo . . . surpasses dinner. A tall, spongy wedge of carrot cake is fit for someone who didn't just eat two intricate helmets of beef Wellington. And the butterscotch pudding is a shaming act of perfection: No matter how many times you try it at home, it's never this buttery.

When all this is over and should you happen to be the only table left, there's time to philosophize about the meal you had. Your waiter might come by. He'll let you touch the bristles on the back wall and engagingly encourage you to check out the (possibly overpriced?) art in the hotel lobby. As you leave, the circle of that bovine theme closes. You're being herded out.

Mooo . . . 15 Beacon St., 617-670-7799, Entrees $22-$130, wines by the glass $9-$29.