www.theforge.com The crowning moment at the Forge is when tuxedo-clad waiters approach the table with silver-domed entrées, place them down in unison, and remove the lids with synchronized flair -- the way it would be done in a Busby Berkeley musical. If you remember Busby, you'll also recall the days when going out to eat in a fine-dining establishment meant the white-glove treatment by a team of pampering professionals. The whole idea of spending oodles of money was to be treated like someone special, even, maybe especially, for those who weren't special at all. The staff at the Forge harkens back to those times, and we're not just referring to the choreography and formal attire. Like veteran stage actors, the waiters here perform with an anonymous polish and panache; they hit their marks by rote. Sure, the somber demeanors of some might remind you of the stuffy butler Dudley Moore mimicked in Arthur, but their maturity is comforting, and it's quite refreshing to hear menu items described in a knowledgeable and articulate manner, to have wines properly handled by a suave sommelier, to have your chair held and napkins refolded, to barely notice the table cloth being silently swept of crumbs. It's nice to be served, and nicer still within the ornate stained-glass grandeur of the Forge. Makes you feel special, which in these parts, in this day and age, is something special indeed.