The “not your daddy’s steak house” slogan makes STK—the One Group’s vowel-averse Manhattan import—come off scarier than it is. Yes, the paparazzi are camped out front, there’s a VIP-only lounge within, and the color scheme is a stark black and white. But underneath is a swell restaurant with aggressively friendly service. Stick to the steaks, all of which come à la carte with a choice of house-made sauce. Less meaty options like snapper with ponzu are almost as colorful as the decor. Truffle fries arrive stacked like Jenga pieces. A foie gras french toast appetizer could pass as dessert, but the real finales (Earl Grey crème brûlée, warm peanut butter cup with banana) do just as well.