You’re stuffed. Honestly, you’ve probably just polished off a dry-aged Delmonico and a side of those legendary onion rings, and the thought of more food feels like a physical impossibility. But then the server asks if you have a reservation upstairs. This is the moment. If you say no, you’re missing the entire point of visiting South Howard Avenue in Tampa. The Bern's Steakhouse dessert room, officially known as the Harry Waugh Dessert Room, isn't just a place to grab a slice of cake. It’s a time capsule. It’s a vibe that hasn't changed since the 1980s, and somehow, it still works.
Stepping into this place feels like walking onto a film set. Or maybe your wealthy great-uncle’s basement from 1982. It is dark. Very dark. The walls are lined with redwood wine casks that have been converted into private booths. You can barely see the person across from you, which is actually part of the charm. It’s intimate, quiet, and smells faintly of aged port and chocolate.
Bern Laxer, the founder, was a visionary, but he was also a bit obsessive. He built this space using 48 reclaimed wine tuns from the 1950s. He wanted a place where guests could linger without feeling the pressure of a busy dining room floor. In an industry where "turning tables" is the mantra, the Harry Waugh Dessert Room is a middle finger to corporate efficiency. It’s built for slow living.
The Logistics of Getting In
Don’t just show up. Seriously. You’ll be disappointed.
While the main dining room at Bern’s is one of the hardest reservations to snag in the United States, the dessert room is a separate beast. If you have dinner downstairs, a table upstairs is usually guaranteed—but you still have to confirm it when you book. If you’re trying to do "dessert only," you’re playing a high-stakes game. They do take a limited number of dessert-only reservations, but they disappear almost instantly when the window opens.
People always ask if the dress code is strictly enforced. Sorta. They call it "business casual," but you’ll see people in full evening gowns and others in decent jeans with a blazer. Just don't roll up in flip-flops. This is Tampa, but Bern’s is the exception to the "Florida casual" rule.
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The transition from the dining room to the dessert room is a choreographed dance. You pay your dinner check, you’re escorted through the kitchen (if you ask nicely for the tour), and then you head upstairs. It feels like a secret club. Once you’re inside your booth, there’s a little control panel. You can toggle the music—everything from classical to contemporary piano—and even adjust the lighting. It’s peak retro-futurism.
What to Actually Order (Beyond the Macadamia Nut Sundae)
Everyone talks about the Macadamia Nut Sundae. It’s the "Basic" choice, but honestly? It’s popular because it’s incredible. The vanilla ice cream is made in-house, and they don’t skimp on the nuts. They’re toasted in butter and salt, creating this crunchy, savory-sweet situation that is hard to beat.
But if you want to look like a regular, you have to dig deeper into the menu.
- The King Tut: This is a heavy hitter. It’s a brownie base with coffee ice cream, topped with a warm chocolate sauce that is rich enough to put you in a coma.
- Banana Cheese Pie: It’s exactly what it sounds like—a hybrid of cheesecake and banana cream pie. It’s lighter than the chocolate options but still decadent.
- The Cheese Flight: Most people skip this because they want sugar, but the cheese selection at Bern's is curated by experts. If you’re more of a savory person, this is the move, especially when paired with a vintage port.
Let’s talk about the wine list. This is where the Bern's Steakhouse dessert room becomes a world-class destination. The list is essentially a phone book. They have one of the largest collections of dessert wines, ports, and sherries in existence. We’re talking about bottles that date back to the 1800s. You can order a glass of Madeira that was bottled when Abraham Lincoln was in office. That’s not a gimmick; it’s a reality of the Bern’s cellar.
The "By the Glass" options for vintage ports are mind-blowing. You don't have to be a sommelier to appreciate a 40-year-old tawny. The complexity—notes of dried fruit, leather, and caramel—is the perfect bridge between a heavy steak dinner and a sweet dessert.
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The Phone System: A Weirdly Charming Relic
One of the quirks of the Harry Waugh room is the internal phone system. Each booth has a phone. In the old days, you could use it to call other booths. Imagine the 1985 version of sliding into someone's DMs. Today, it’s mostly used to request songs from the live pianist who sits in the center of the room.
There is something deeply satisfying about picking up an old-school receiver to ask for a Billy Joel cover. It adds to the analog feel of the whole experience. In a world of QR code menus and digital payments, the dessert room feels stubbornly, beautifully stuck in time.
Is It Overrated?
In a word: No.
But you have to understand what you're paying for. You aren't just paying for a $20 slice of cake. You’re paying for the privacy of a redwood booth, the expertise of a server who knows the difference between ten different types of Scotch, and the ability to sit for two hours without anyone rushing you.
Some critics argue the decor is "dated." They’re right. It is. The carpet is red, the wood is dark, and the lighting is moody. But that’s the point. If Bern’s ever "modernized" the dessert room with white marble and neon lights, the city of Tampa would probably riot. It’s a sanctuary.
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One thing to keep in mind: it gets loud. Despite the private booths, the sound of 40 different conversations and a piano can create a low roar. If you’re looking for a place for a silent, somber reflection, this isn't it. It’s a celebration. It’s the victory lap after a massive meal.
Practical Steps for Your Visit
If you're planning a trip to the Bern's Steakhouse dessert room, don't leave it to chance. The "show up and hope" method works about 5% of the time, usually on a Tuesday at 10:30 PM.
- Book the dinner reservation first. This is your golden ticket. Reservations open 60 days in advance at midnight on OpenTable. They go in seconds. Literally seconds.
- Request a booth in the "A" or "B" sections. These are the original redwood casks. Some of the newer tables are just regular booths, and while they're fine, they don't have the same "cave" feel.
- Plan for the Kitchen and Cellar Tour. You usually do this between dinner and dessert. It’s free. You’ll see the massive wine cellar (or at least a portion of it) and the chaos of a kitchen that handles hundreds of steaks an hour. It provides great context for the dessert you’re about to eat.
- Order a "Flight" of spirits. Instead of one expensive glass of whiskey or port, ask the server to put together a small tasting. The staff here is incredibly well-trained—many have been there for decades—and they love showing off the rare stuff.
- Don't rush. The dessert room is designed for lounging. If you try to do it in 30 minutes, you’ve wasted your money. Budget at least 90 minutes for the full experience.
The magic of this place isn't just the sugar. It’s the fact that in a rapidly changing world, Bern Laxer’s weird, wood-paneled dream hasn't blinked. It remains a shrine to indulgence, a place where the 20th century never ended, and the chocolate sauce is always warm.
When you leave, walking out into the humid Tampa night, you’ll likely feel a mix of extreme fullness and a strange sense of nostalgia. You've just spent a few hours in a place that shouldn't exist anymore, but thankfully, still does. Whether it's your first time or your fiftieth, the ritual of the dessert room is a cornerstone of American dining culture that actually lives up to the stories.