Independently owned steakhouses have become rarities in the shadows of bigwigs like Donovan’s, Morton’s, Fleming’s and Ruth’s Chris. With the exception of eating at Rainwater’s on Kettner (reviewed Jan. 29) and the marvelous Suite & Tender (reviewed April 2), I hadn’t set foot into any non-franchised beef havens since the early ’90s. And those were the Red Lion, with its blinding red interior, and The Butcher Shop, a San Diego institution staffed with leggy waitresses that felt kind of like a steak bordello back then.

In conquering what is probably the only independent steak joint remaining on the local frontier, I encroached last week on Greystone the Steakhouse, a 10-year-old multi-tiered restaurant owned by a trio of biz partners, and set within the former Bijou Theatre.

Greystone is no exception to the rule that eating aged beef requires a loose wallet. But toss in a couple of appetizers, a salad, soup and peripherals like horseradish sauce and caramelized onions, and dinner here could equate to a car payment for a vehicle that doesn’t perform as it should for the money.

Seated toward the back of the restaurant’s sub-level dining room near a partially exposed kitchen, my companion and I logged our first grievance over the constant clamor of dishes being scraped, rinsed and stacked. It’s a zone where the plush, somewhat outdated elegance of the dining room is met by the audio of a Denny’s. Music emanating from the street-level bar area did little to pacify the racket.

Greystone’s beef offerings are augmented by a hodgepodge of dishes atypical to classic steakhouses. But such diversity doesn’t always guarantee culinary finesse. An appetizer of “chipotle skewers” made with New York strip, for instance, puts the smoky flavor of chipotle and cilantro cream sauce on a collision course with a bedding of boldly flavored Asian salad. We embraced their components separately; yet in combination, the dish tasted ill-conceived.

Another starter, maple-glazed pork-belly tacos further jangled our palates. For a whopping $14, we received only three petite cubes of the succulent pork, two severely small corn tortillas and a plop of caramelized onions that were a misfit to the sesame-orange dressing. Too many ethnic influences on one plate, we concluded, and not enough sustenance.

Skipping over a soup course due to cost (a bowl of lobster bisque is also $14), we shared a wedge-style salad of butter lettuce speckled with fresh cherry tomatoes, crisp cucumbers and blue-cheese crumbles. Its downfall was in the honey-vinaigrette dressing, which was both sugary and acidic, like commercial bottled stuff.

“Maybe independent status means very high prices on everything,” my companion noted as we carefully planned the rest of our meal. A half Jidori boneless chicken sells for $26; Chilean sea bass is $36; risotto with wild mushrooms costs $26 and steak “add-ons” such as onions or a fried egg will set you back $5 per item – inflated prices for common commodities. As for the a la carte side dishes, they average $10 apiece.

According to our waiter, the steaks arrive supposedly dry-aged from the distributor. But after tasting my companion’s 24-ounce, bone-in rib eye, I wasn’t convinced. The meat lacked the coveted flavor concentration and sour undertones achieved from dry aging. Though tasty, we felt it was just an average, juicy steak you could get anywhere.

My entrée choice, salmon wrapped in smoked bacon was disappointing and odd. For starters, the fish was overly encased in the bacon, completely upstaging the delicate flavor of the plump, flaky filet. Surrounding it was a copper-colored pinot noir reduction – an absolute mismatch to both the fish and a mounting of corn mixed with rice. The sauce was better suited for red meat, as my companion proved by swiping pieces of his rib eye through it.

Our server was polite and attentive, but awkwardly misinformed in his explanation of potatoes Lyonnaise, which the kitchen prepares “with a twist,” he said. When asked how they differ from the traditional pan-fried version with onions, butter and parsley, he told us that the spuds are instead baked and include cheese.

“What type of cheese?” we continued asking.

“Béchamel,” he replied.

We sent him back to the kitchen, where he quickly learned that béchamel is a sauce and Parmesan is the cheese used in the recipe. Needless to say, the dish was gloppy and OK at best.

We also ordered baked asparagus draped with an organic egg and chunks of coagulated Parmesan ($12). The preparation reminded me of a peasanty asparagus recipe my Italian grandfather cooked on occasion, though less delightful and oilier.

The wine list contains reputable names and choice vintages, provided your budget allows for spendy bottles of Frog’s Leap, Sea Smoke, Duckhorn and Bryant Family releases. The glass list is more accessible and features a juicy Belasco “Llama” malbec from Argentina for only $8 – chunk change compared to the price of meals, which seem cut and pasted together from a whole lot of different cookbooks.