Yorkville hasn’t been pegged as a proper party destination since Neil Young and co. ditched the hood for less gentrified pastures. Or so we thought. Apparently, if you hit up STK on a Saturday, you’ll see that there’s a pulse.
By midnight, the men in $3,000 suits let go. It gets raucous. People topple off bar stools. Or so says our chatty server.
Alas, we’ll not get to witness an ounce of this fun: reserving a table a week in advance only nabs us a two-seater at 5:15 p.m. Who knew it was such a hot spot?
The tough choices
We decide to sink most of our $100 budget into a steak — but which one? Do we opt for an affordable skirt steak ($33) and a duo of appetizers or do we go all out? Unfortunately, the $179 tomahawk steak’s out of reach tonight. We’re hoping for some wine with our meal, but two glasses of vino would blow a third of our budget at $16 each. This is hard.
With the waiter’s help, we narrow it down to the bone-in filet ($74) and the Delmonico ($70), a rib-eye that’s dry-aged in house. “If you like tender and lean, the filet is great,” says the server, who then sits down next to us, as if the conversation is about to take a heavy turn. “But the rib-eyes are so nicely marbled with fat right now, “he says. We’re sold! One fatty steak with a duo of sides, please. And with that single course, our budget’s gone.
But will there be enough?
We worry that a second dinner might be necessary, but then a wee loaf of warm bread arrives in a cast-iron skillet, laced with blue cheese butter and a side of chive-infused olive oil. It disappears quickly.
Charbroiled until medium-rare, our steak arrives cut and fanned out, ready to be plunked on our plates. Since we couldn’t get the vino, we settled on the red wine demi-glaze dipping sauce plus the (not robust enough) chimichurri. At an extra $2 for the latter, it fit the budget. Our sides — nicely charred Brussels sprouts plus jalapeno grits bathing in cheese — definitely amuse the palate.
The conclusion
Upon completion we’re entirely sated, despite feeling that this wasn’t quite what Yorkville’s primped socialites would order. Our only error? Next time, we’ll be sure to nab that elusive 10 p.m. reso.