At night, the low-slung roof and garish yellow sign of the Columbine Steak House beckon like an Edward Hopper painting, though perhaps without the pervading sense of loneliness. Through the window, passersby on Federal Boulevard can witness a throng of waiting diners, often spilling out the front door, queued up to order a steak from the grill man as flames leap behind him. The steaks are simple and cheap, kissed by fire, leaking fat and blood, flecked with a touch of salt and pepper. Columbine has been serving steaks for more than a half-century, and what you'll get on your plate is exactly what your parents and grandparents would have gotten here. The diner side is strictly no-nonsense — just pay and eat and make room for newcomers. At the bar, the pace is a little more relaxed; just don't ask for anything too fancy (meaning anything with more than two ingredients) or you'll be met with suspicion. Bring cash and leave the coat and tie at home.