Sparks
210 East 46th Street, New York
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Everything about Sparks, right down to the imperial font on the menu, screams Old-School New York Steakhouse. Like the city around it, the place is big, it's expensive and it's often maddening to outsiders. (Just try to make sense of the reservation policy.) But if you're willing to wait -- or slip the host a little something -- the steaks are beyond criticism. Crusty black-tie waiters wheel the raw beef to your table, and seasoned diners go with the sirloin, a succulent, butter knife-tender hunk of prime beef. Don't overlook the well chosen wine list or the nearly six-pound lobsters; both are first-class. Bucolic Hudson River Valley paintings and antique American dressers line the dark environs, and, predictably, the 687-seat room has a higher male/female ratio than your average fraternity house. And the infamous 1985 mob hit on Paul Castellano outside the front door solidified Sparks' street cred forever. "I'll put it this way," said Mike Cetta, the owner. "We were packed before it happened, but now we're really packed." Which means: They get you in, they feed you, they dazzle you and they get you out. That's New York.

Photo courtesy of Sparks