And then there were the hot rocks. Lots and lots of rocks, smooth and flat and blackish-gray, volcanic bricks that had been heated to 755 degrees in an oven for eight hours and then wheeled to tables with hunks of raw, unseasoned beef. The rocks weigh 15 pounds each and they came in clunky trays that were cumbersome for servers and diners alike. Somehow the hot slabs made their way to each of us in a long booth, as did other plates — a raw tuna steak, a foil-wrapped baked potato, soupy mac-and-cheese, a lava skillet of flavorless sizzling mushrooms.