STK

The name of this swanky chain is short for “steak,” and it’s touted by its proprietors, for better or worse, as a trendy chophouse for the feminine set. The dining-room walls of this Meatpacking District outlet (there are two other STKs in town) are partially plastered with faux black leather and lined, here and there, with rows of silver studs. There’s a lounge area in the middle of the room where people sit sipping tall glasses of soda water, and texting absently on their cell phones. In accordance with the now-hallowed Meatpacking District terroir, there’s also a DJ, of course, along with tip-hungry attendants in the restroom, and a pricey wine list sheathed in the kind of fake white alligator leather Imelda Marcos used to favor when choosing a new pair of shoes. A steak dinner can arrive crisply and on time, to our great surprise, and the quality of our 14-ounce New York strip actually wasn’t half bad.