A caveman walks into a bar and growls, "Gimme a steak." Michael, the chef, rightly figures that no sissy filet mignon is going to satisfy this tough customer, so he sets out to create a steak dinner that will turn Mr. Cave Dweller into just one more happy camper. To that end, he takes an enormous rib chop -- thick, well-marbled, and with a texture like velvet -- grills it till it's all savory brown outside and buttery warm within, heaps it with thickly cut rings of grilled red onion and chunks of melting bleu cheese, and sides it with savory housemade steak sauce and a paper cone filled with riveting rosemary-scented french fries. The caveman takes one look at the dinner, throws down his fork and knife, and starts to shovel it in with both hands. When all the commotion stops, the caveman has turned into a business guy, complete with suit, tie, and cell phone. He slaps down his Amex card, pays his $29 bill, and asks for a doggie bag for the bone. "Yabba dabba do," he chuckles under his breath. "Dino's gonna love this." And then he's gone. "Hey," thinks Michael. "I know that guy! I'm going to name that meal in his honor." And thus, dear readers, the Fred Flintstone dinner at Lola was born.