Suit-clad power dinners take place next to T-shirt wearing tourists from Wisconsin who have never actually eaten next to a real power dinner. Both parties marvel at their aged, bone-in filets cooked to perfection and smothered with the usual accoutrements found in the type of eatery in which black mahogany wood lines your table. You and your bachelor party brothers-in-arms will fall somewhere in the middle; unless, of course, you’re from Wisconsin, in which case you may not even know that in a joint like Bob’s pouring ketchup on your cut is a faux pas (that’s French for don’t do it).