Funny enough for a place named STK (that’s pronounced es-tee-kay, BTW), the best things going on here have nothing to do with meat. This despite a poster of a well-muscled model in red stilettos holding a bloody carcass in one hand and a cleaver in the other with the words "Not your daddy’s steakhouse." The promo is prophetic in a way: STK is thick with more mini-skirted girls than I’ve seen at cheerleading competitions. I guess it's no surprise they've figured out that steakhouses have more single guys per square inch than any venue outside a boxing match. If nothing else, STK knows its demographic. Though STK makes much of the claim that it's not old-fashioned, the menu is full of items -- beef tartare, iceberg salad, shrimp cocktail, oysters on the half shell and all manor of beef -- that your daddy’s steak house would most definitely serve. And the cooking, while clearly competent, relies heavily on butter and salt for flavor.
Ambiance: The soundtrack blasts the dressed-up crowd of 30- and 40-somethings back to the '80s with Sting, David Bowie, The Outfield and Gary Numan. (Remember "Here in My Car''?) More nightclub than restaurant, the gorgeous double-decker interior glows with highly glossed wood tables, plush white and gray leather chairs, strategically placed pin lights and lots of shimmery black paint and mirrors.
What Didn’t Work
Bottom line: A meal at sexy STK isn't at all bad. It’s just that at steak house prices, it ought to be a lot better.