Luxurious steaks, fabulous wines and a dated ambience bring Rainwater’s on Kettner to its 25th anniversary this year. Bowing to post-modern chophouses of back East, the restaurant has played host to herds of carnivores with money to burn, and in today’s choked economy, a larger concentration of corporate wigs feasting from fat expense accounts.

First-timers, however, might be surprised by the restaurant’s mismatched elegance. On one hand, the beef is of the highest grade – corn-fed, wet-aged, cut-to-order and hailing from a Chicago slaughter yard that is one of the oldest in the country. The wine list features nearly 1,600 labels, with a fair portion of bottles soaring above the $500 mark. Thirsty for some Screaming Eagle Cab from Napa? Then plan on adding $3,000 to that $55 prime t-bone, followed by a penny-pinching diet of Ramen Noodles over the next six months to compensate.

The dimly lit interior feels less swanky in comparison, a relic of the 1980s replete with plastic plants, outdated leather chairs and push carts rattling over worn carpeting for delivering meals to your table. And then there are the batter-fried pickles on the appetizer list, served with clashing teriyaki dipping sauce – an invention better suited for the Del Mar Fair than a white-linen establishment, my companion whispered.

But the steaks are downright breathtaking. And that’s why you come here. After enduring the kitchen band saw, each chop is sprinkled with coarse salt and pepper and put through a 1,400-degree flame broiler. They’re finished off with a tad of butter, restoring any lost fat that escapes their charry seal.

My companion, who grew up on a steady diet of beef in the Midwest, declared his 24-ounce t-bone as the best he ever tasted. The T-bone exuded a super fleshy flavor, punctuated by a subtle and mesmerizing sourness from aging. I ordered filet mignon with Béarnaise sauce, which fortunately came on the side because despite its creamy tarragon essence, the only fluid you want touching these steaks is your saliva. Thus, the Rainwater’s “famous pepper filet” wouldn’t be for me, since it’s crowned with bacon, onions and sautéed mushrooms – too much camouflage on the main event.

Other cuts include rib eye, New York strip and bone-in strip, all prime grade. There are also milk-fed veal chops, Midwestern pork chops, short ribs osso bucco style and a variety of fresh fish and seafood, including Idaho trout. Gone, for now at least, is the restaurant’s famous beef Wellington, a victim of the economy because it’s too labor intensive to construct.

Side dishes, salads and appetizers varied in their appeal. We liked the cream corn, which is really creamy and pleasantly sweet. The potato skins, however, were among the driest and pulpiest I’ve had. If you’re gonna call them “potato skins,” why not scrape the potatoes down to the you-know-whats?

The aforementioned fried pickles were actually fun, provided we kept them at a safe distance from the Asian dipping sauce. A much nicer starter was the smoked salmon plate served with crème fraiche, chopped eggs and toast points – a nod to the salmon appetizers I remember eating when flying overseas in business class in the late ’80s, when airline food was still rather engaging.

My companion’s beet salad at the start of our meal was everything we wished for, incorporating fresh beets of various colors with the added bonus of goat cheese and hazelnut croutons. Among other salad choices, the “house” medley stands out if only because of its cheddar cheese dressing, which I tried on the side, though was left indifferent. It’s basically ranch with shredded curds.

What makes Rainwater’s special, aside from its steaks and wine tome, is that it isn’t carbon-copied by some corporation, but rather mom-and-pop owned by a couple (Laurel and Paddy Rainwater), who owned restaurants decades ago in suburban Illinois before returning to San Diego.

As Paddy Rainwater says, “Once you get a taste of prime beef from back East, you never go back.”

Yes, times are tough and spending is down. But there comes a time after diligently scrimping that enough money is left in your pocket to pamper your palate. And these steaks, followed by a novel dessert of “chocolate lasagna” might be just what your financial counselor says you deserve after eating your way through every five-dollar deal in town.