That night at the hotel, after a swim in the hotel’s large indoor pool, I put on a nice shirt, slacks and sport coat but found to my distress that my dress shoes were AWOL—an apt term since 24,000 National Guardsmen were having a leadership conference at the Gaylord resort on the weekend of our visit. (That is a lot of khaki.) I had pulled out a pair of dress shoes when packing for the trip, but amid the craziness of a late leave, I failed to complete that last little step of actually putting them into my bag. No dress shoes. At the hotel, I searched through my bag twice to delay the reality of my silly oversight. It did not help: no shoes.

But no worries! I looked more than respectable from the ankles up, and besides, I would be entering the restaurant behind my wife and daughter. I could only hope the (attentive) staff would not spot my faux pas—or if they did, that they would ignore their rule forbidding casual shoes. If caught, I intended to say that I’d recently had foot surgery and my doctor had prescribed the sneakers during rehabilitation.

The Old Hickory Steakhouse turned out to be more elegant than anticipated. (Uh-oh.) Then, after being greeted by the host, we had to walk through not one or two but three rooms, including a swanky bar with white leather seats, before reaching our table—and of course most of the diners along the way gave us a scan as we passed. In the end, it was much ado about nothing. I moved confidently (and quite comfortably) through the restaurant—and once seated didn’t give the sneaks another thought. There was steak to eat!

Given that we are suffering through what everyone hopes is the last stretch of a major recession, and given that the Gaylord has only been open since April, I was expecting the steakhouse, one of three restaurants at the resort, to be fairly quiet. It was just the opposite—busy—and we soon learned why. The food was fantastic. For starters, my wife, Betsy, had a seafood cocktail (poached Maine lobster, white shrimp, scallops, calamari and jumbo lump crab), daughter Lily had lobster and bacon corn chowder, and I had almond-encrusted jumbo lump crab cake with avocado mousseline. For our entrees, Betsy had a 10-ounce grass-fed beef tenderloin, Lily had sautéed spinach and truffle mac & cheese (something Eloise surely ate at the Plaza), and I ordered a 20-ounce Black Angus ribeye served on a Himalayan salt stone with a half head of roasted garlic. (Gaylord officials say the stones are mined as boulders from beneath the mountains then hand cut by local masons. They impart a slight saltiness to the food—and apparently are ideal for high-temperature cooking.) Let’s just say the main courses were surpassingly tasty. Lily, who is talkative, was unusually quiet during the meal—a sure sign of contentment. I acknowledge that an upscale steakhouse is not exactly standard fare for a 7-year-old, but parents take an interlude of quiet contentment however they can get it!