A friend of mine, a glamorous woman always bejeweled and bedecked, makes a startling entrance when she blasts into Bugaboo Creek at the mall for her weekly fix of steak, blooming onion and baked potato with everything on it. She loves the place, dropping in as she does like a bombshell erupting in a lagoon

Before going she fortifies her prominent figure with a high dose of Lipitor, like an icy finger on a palpitating pulse, thinking herself immune to otherwise high-caloric, high-fat food that she woofs down with abandon.

I’ve tried to explain the error of her ways. Lipitor is meant to keep cholesterol in check rather than to be a combatant in an onslaught. She turns a wonderfully sparkling deaf ear to my admonitions.

At least when I go it’s without misconception. Last night. I was in the mood for a good, thick well-grilled steak. I reasoned that if I ordered carefully I could assauge my yen for marbled beef without sacrificing mundane dietary concerns.

Unfortunately I’m the worst offender with zero tolerance in the face of temptation. It’s probably best for me to avoid places like Bugaboo’s altogether because the menu is mostly a merciless list that even the staunchest high-protein low-carb buff would have trouble navigating successfully without ingesting the egregious components of a heart-stomping meal.

Yet we prevailed as best we could. We started off with the Whitewater Shrimp, good medium size pieces that were beautifully pan seared and succulent I found the honey mustard dipping sauce, though, too cloying and sweet.

The salad course was next. Here we had a choice of mixed greens, Caesar or a wedge. I opted for the wedge--a slab of iceberg that was surprisingly modest in size but slathered with a brutal goop of blue cheese and bacon.

I felt myself going down hill rapidly into the deep, dark well of the overfed. Though if I were an Atkins adherent I’d be right on target, growing thinner by the second, if I lived long enough to see the results.

Next on my declivitous flight would have been the prime rib and a baked potato, both of which the restaurant was out of at 7:30.This was not a good sign.

Instead I chose the grilled rib eye with honey pepper glaze and my friend ordered a 7 ounce fillet. For starches we had seasoned French fries and smashed potatoes respectively.

I thought of ordering a double portion of vegetables instead of potato, but the last time I did that the vegetables tasted like they were braised in ammonia. . The lesson is if you’re locked in a world of calories don’t’ stint. Go for the kill and enjoy it.

The baked potato, had it been available, is served with everything on it-- built on a towering inferno of sour cream, bacon, chives and, I think, melted cheese, though I might be wrong about the cheese. In retrospect I’m glad they were out of them that evening.

The service at Bugaboo's is always first rate. The waiters and waitresses are fun, energetic, organized and work hard. Ours that night was like a beam of smiles and laughter.

The mountain lodge atmosphere is cute and disarming, though a steady diet of it would be overkill unless one was truly in repose at a retreat in Colorado.

The fillet was grilled and served plain, except for a mild touch of seasoning. The glaze on my steak neither added nor detracted from the generally good tasting meat.

It arrived on the plate with perfect, glistening grill markings. The meat, however, was tough. Even the giant steak knife that’s supplied with the place setting struggled to saw through this unfortunate mass. Rib eyes are generally tender. At least it was juicy, moist and not a total washout.

My friend’s fillet was perfect: juicy, perfectly tender and nicely flavored as were the creamy smashed potatoes.

My seasoned French fries were an abomination of salt and other metallic-tasting spices that were very off-putting. They were also tepid, sappy and unappetizing. My two favorite fries are at Norm’s BBQ, especially the sweet potato version, and at the Falmouth Sea Grill. These should have been better.

Generally chain restaurants can achieve good results with a uniformity of quality. In past experiences at Bugaboo's the food has been as one would expect: highly acceptable. They were off last night.

We weren’t going to have dessert but who could resist in the face of such sweet temptations? We shared what’s called The Big Foot Chocolate Chip Cookie. This is several layers of cookie set into a graham cracker crust and baked in a crock. It’s at least 6 or 7 inches round. It comes topped with Breyer’s vanilla ice cream.

I don’t think I’ve reached such a high plateau of sugar before. It was so sweet, I felt my teeth rotting with each bite.

But, alas, it was wonderful, a sickly sweet dessert in all its glory. What could be bad about a hot chocolate chip cookie supporting a melting mound of vanilla ice cream? The scoop of classic Breyer’s vanilla ice cream, one amongst so many premium ice creams available today, was perfect. For good measure we didn’t finish the dessert, though I practically had to have my hands tied to keep myself away.

I didn’t weigh myself this morning; I couldn’t bear to look at the results. Yet I wish the meal had been better. When Bugaboo’s is good it’s really OK. Trying to stint there by looking for a Spartan meal is a waste of time.

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