Ribeye cap, light of my life when there's fire in my grill. My steak, my soul. Rib-eye-cap. It's deckle, plain deckle, in the kitchen, sitting one foot four when trimmed. It's calotte in France. It's Butcher's Butter in the shop. It's spinalis dorsi in the anatomist's manual. But in my tongs, it is always ribeye cap.