Most steak houses are mausoleums of meat, boneyards of beef, retirement homes for carnivores. There's the obligatory dark wood and brass rail décor, which was really, really hip... in 1920. There's the pretentious, stultifying ambiance — half snobby suburban country club, half pompous dillweed. There's the usual roster of side dishes — shrimp cocktail, creamed spinach, hash browns, and the like — that have been around since the invention of food. Even if the steaks are good, everything else is so dull and dated that you feel like you've been dropped into an old black-and-white episode of Leave It to Beaver. Then there's Cut 432. The beef is pedigreed and killer — wet- and dry-aged, USDA Prime, Wagyu, Niman Ranch. The sides are actually interesting — beet and pistachio salad, blue cheese tater tots, pancetta-roasted Brussels sprouts. And the sleek, modern dining room and rollicking good-timey atmosphere are anything but old and tired. You don't go to Cut to retire; you go to live.