Feast Like a King at These Can’t-Miss NYC Steakhouses

During the dog days of the COVID lockdowns, I spent a lazy week on my couch in Texas binge-watching The Sopranos. Maybe it was the munchies, but I found myself captivated by the scenes set in old-school New York steakhouses—dark, smoky salons where Tony, Chrissy, and the Family cut deals, busted balls, and tore into charred ribeyes over red wine and Cognac. The black leather booths, brusque waiters in tuxedos, grainy black and white photos on the walls—it all seemed exquisitely badass and quintessentially New York. 

When I moved to the Big Apple after the pandemic, I made it a mission to try as many iconic steakhouses as my wallet and arteries would permit. Nobody knows the city’s culinary history better than Max Tucci, a third-generation partner at Delmonico’s in the Financial District and the proprietor of Tucci in NoHo, and I asked him what defines a classic New York steakhouse. “It’s a certain aesthetic—the dark heavy wood, the in-your-face masculinity, the pearls and sharp suits,” Tucci told me. “But landmark New York steakhouses have something that cannot be replicated: history. The likes of Abraham Lincoln, Mark Twain, and Nikola Tesla have dined at Delmonico’s. You can’t buy that kind of pedigree, no matter how much money you pour into a new steakhouse.”

New York’s historic steakhouses are American treasures. But that’s not to say the new blood isn’t worth your time or dollar. Young guns like PB Brasserie in Harlem and Vinile in Gramercy may lack historical cachet, but make up for it in creativity and flair. Below are eleven superb NYC steakhouses, a medley of time-honored institutions and newer standouts.

Looking for more New York travel inspo? Check out our guide to NYC hotels for every kind of traveler and the city’s very best cocktail bars.

America’s first fine-dining establishment when it opened in 1837, Delmonico’s helped shape what we now consider classic American cuisine. The Delmonico Steak, the Wedge Salad, Eggs Benedict, and Baked Alaska are all dishes either invented or popularized within its storied walls. The list of luminaries who have dined here—including Twain, Lincoln, JFK, and JP Morgan—reads like a who’s who of American history. 

After almost two centuries of business, the luster hasn’t faded. A Beaux-Arts beauty in the Financial District, Manhattan’s oldest neighborhood, Delmonico’s remains one of New York’s most coveted reservations. For first-timers, Max Tucci recommends ordering the Wedge Salad, a steakhouse staple invented by his grandfather. The yellowtail crudo, jewels of raw fish garnished with avocado and walnuts, is another worthwhile start to a meal. And the namesake Delmonico Steak, a gloriously marbled ribeye, is a must-order on a first visit. If you feel l​ike celebrating, order the caviar service ​f​ollowed by the snow-aged wagyu. While the wine program is among the most extensive in the world, I usually skip the leather-bound tome and let the sommelier choose a ​treasure from the cellar for me. 

I lost a bet a few weeks ago to my buddy Shlomo, and per our terms, I treated him to a steak dinner at a restaurant of his choosing. True to form, he picked the most opulent kosher steakhouse around: Reserve Cut in Midtown. Their steaks age for 36 days, lending a succulent texture and ​beefy, umami flavor. The sushi is every bit as decadent, and the pro move is​ to order a surf-n-turf combo: raw fish appetizers and steak entrees. We polished off the Midtown Tuna Truffle Roll, silky o-toro maki draped with truffle sauce, and a plate of hamachi before the main event of a wagyu tomahawk steak. The wine menu is laden with treasures from Bordeaux, Piedmont, and Napa Valley, and our bottle of Chateau Margeaux made each bite of steak sing. For dessert, we stuck to the tried-and-true: a colossal slice of strawberry shortcake paired with a good Cognac.

Whenever I ride past the billboard for Peter Luger on the J Train, images of whipped mashed potatoes and slices of marbled porterhouse covered in tangy-sweet sauce rush through my mind​, and I start salivating like a Pavlovian hound. Many assert that Peter Luger, founded in 1887, is the archetype of a New York City steakhouse. I like to arrive 30 minutes before my reservation to have a whiskey at the bar, one of the most handsome in NYC. Then I order the porterhouse, a side of creamed spinach, and the German potatoes—spuds fried in steak drippings and garnished with caramelized onions and garlic. It’s easier to get a table for lunch, and it’s the only time to get the Luger Burger, a legend in its own right. 

This warm and inviting downtown destination is a love letter to the Tucci family’s Florentine heritage. A mural by Christopher Fiori, a renowned graffiti artist, adorns the front entrance, and the dining room decor brings to mind a sumptuous Italian villa. With soft lighting and a softly illuminated ambiance, Tucci is a date-night restaurant par excellence. Alongside steaks, the menu features truffle-laden pasta dishes, gourmet charcuterie, and Italian soul food like veal marsala. ​The meatballs, a recipe from Max Tucci’s grandmother, ​are a standout, as are the cocktails infused with rare Italian amari. 

I feel like I’m sitting down to a feast in a ​Victorian ​aristocrat’s drawing room when I dine at Jack & Charlie’s No. 118. With a roaring fireplace, tiled floors, and handsome paintings on the wall, the ambiance is cozy and intimate. The kitchen’s wood-burning oven infuses pasta and steaks with a delightful smokiness. The bone-in duck meatloaf with fig jus and the wild mushroom agnolotti are cult classics, and the martinis rank among the finest in Lower Manhattan.

An Art Deco gem in Midtown, Monterey radiates old-school New York glamour. It’s the kind of restaurant where Frank Sinatra or Don Draper would’ve held court, martini in hand. The menu playfully nods to New Orleans and French brasserie fare. The Grand Plateau is one of Manhattan’s most impressive seafood towers, a briny​ bonanza of oysters, clams, lobster, and shrimp. ​Complete the surf-n-turf extravaganza with an entree of steak frites, an aged hanger steak dressed with béarnaise and paired with French fries. The bananas foster flambeed tableside provides a final exclamation point on the meal.

The sister restaurant of Vinyl Steakhouse, Vinile opened in February and is already one of Manhattan’s buzziest dinner spots. ​Vinyl records line the walls, and a dedicated “sound sommelier” spins an eclectic mix of rock ‘n’ roll, Italian hip-hop, and opera music. The Godfather, whiskey infused with cacao, is one of the most memorable cocktails I have enjoyed in recent memory. It’s like the very soul of chocolate diffused into Scotch, perhaps the way Montezuma’s cacao elixir would have tasted if the Aztecs had had whiskey. For the dishes, ​I​ am partial to the potatoes fried in bone marrow and the beef cheeks with fig sauce.

After a blissful stint in Croatia, I returned to New York craving the clean, bright flavors and fresh seafood of the Adriatic. That’s when I discovered Marsanne, which serves grilled octopus, hummus, and lamb kebabs as delectable as anything I tasted in Dubrovnik or Zadar. While I initially went for the mezze and branzino, I kept returning for the steak frites, dressed in piquant au poivre sauce and paired with shoestring fries. Pair it with a robust Eastern Mediterranean red win​e and smile knowing that no Venetian doge in his seaside palace ever dined better.

I am an avowed Pappy hunter. A man known to chase rumors of the mythical Kentucky bourbon to public houses and restaurants across all five boroughs. Rocco’s somehow always has the Van Winkle Family’s choicest nectar in stock. But fine whiskey is just the prelude. This textbook New York City steakhouse, serves dry-aged cuts blistered to perfection in a 1,000-degree oven. The sides are as indulgent as a pour of Pappy 20-year-old: lobster mac and cheese, buttery hashbrowns, and creamed spinach so rich and velvety, it makes me reconsider my lifelong aversion to vegetables.

I invited an interior designer to Benjamin Prime and won major points for choosing such an elegantly appointed restaurant. The high ceilings and graceful lighting accentuate the artwork and beautiful wooden millwork in the dining room. A stone’s throw from Grand Central Station, Benjamin Prime is a stalwart for Midtown’s ​glitterati, high-octane financiers, and big machers. Start with the seafood tower​ piled high with crab claws, lobster, and shrimp. The wagyu carpaccio, decorated with black truffle and Parmesan curls, is pure umami bliss. Steaks arrive on a piping hot metal platter, and the waiter sears each slice tableside with theatrical flair. Add a side of truffle mashed potatoes or lobster mac and cheese, and you’ve got yourself a feast fit for a hedge-fund tycoon.

Upper Manhattan is a formidable trek from my apartment in Brooklyn, but its fabulous dining scene more than justifies the shlep. PB Brasserie is helmed by Chef Elhadji Cisse, and the cuisine is a soulful amalgamation of the flavors of France, West Africa, and the Caribbean. Appetizers span French bistro classics—think garlicky escargot and artfully curated cheese boards—to creative fusion dishes like Moules Africana, mussels bathed in a white wine sauce infused with West African spices. The list of mouth-watering proteins includes lamb chops, ribeyes, and hanger steaks, all roasted to perfection and served with herb-infused butter and sauces like béarnaise, au poivre, and Bordelaise.