The Best Steakhouses in the United States

An Argentine steakhouse in Sandy where the wood-fired grill does most of the talking. The menu reads like a serious commitment to South American beef culture, with Wagyu cuts, house-made sausages, and mixed parilla platters sized for a group who came hungry. Empanadas make a sensible start, and the lamb chops and Kurobuta pork keep things interesting for anyone not there purely for the beef. The rustic décor leans into the theme without apologizing for it.

Lou & Mickey's is a Gaslamp steakhouse with a lounge attached, built on the idea that a chophouse should still look like a chophouse. The beef gets aged in-house for a month, and the menu runs from grass-fed rib-eye to Japanese wagyu, with halibut and clam linguine for anyone dragged along against their will. It holds AAA Three Diamonds, so expect an expense-account dinner, not a quick bite before the ballgame.

A vaulted stone bridge leads to this steakhouse on the edge of Clove Lakes Park, where the terrace sits close enough to the water to feel like a small, private Central Park. Steaks, chops, and prime seafood pull the birthday-and-anniversary crowd, which is to say the room is perpetually celebratory. The menu is classic steakhouse, nothing that will surprise you, which is precisely the point on a night like that.

On the 71st floor of a round Peachtree tower, this steakhouse rotates slowly enough that you won't notice until Stone Mountain has quietly switched sides. The menu is tight: steaks, chops, braised short ribs, roasted chicken, and a minimum spend per adult that keeps things honest. Business casual, reservations required. The bar two floors up lets you trade a full dinner for a cocktail and a small plate with the same view and fewer expectations.

An upscale steakhouse on the seventh floor of a hotel that bills itself as Swiss hospitality in Texas, which tells you something about the room before you even sit down. The draw is the house Akaushi beef, raised by the team's own breeding program just north of the Red River, and it shows up across a menu built around the classics. White-jacketed service, a clubby feel, and a cocktail list you'll need before deciding.

The name nods to the culinary slang for "out of stock," and supposedly the slang nods back to this building. That circular logic fits a steakhouse so committed to provenance it sources mature Spanish Vaca Vieja cattle from a New Jersey farm and reads its beef list less like a menu than a position paper. A Himalayan salt ageing room sits below the original Prohibition-era bar. The cut gets cooked on a Spanish plancha, a broiler, or Japanese binchōtan, whichever suits that particular animal.

A Mexican steakhouse on Sixth Avenue where the dish everyone's talking about costs twelve dollars. The Taco Richi, named a favorite by the New York Times critic, is an open-faced flour tortilla loaded with rib-eye ribbons and salsa verde pork cracklings, finished with a crust of seared cheese. The porterhouse is enormous and beside the point. Order one taco, get warned off a second, ignore the advice.

A square bar anchors the center of the room, floor-to-ceiling glass wine cellar on one side and personalized wine lockers tucked throughout, which tells you roughly what you're in for. This is a proper steakhouse in Coral Gables, the kind that takes the Caesar salad as seriously as the ribeye. The menu roams wider than expected, from croquettes to hamachi crudo, before landing on a deep cut of steaks made entirely in-house.

A horseshoe bar anchors the ground floor of Andrew Carmellini's Italian steakhouse at the South Street Seaport, with Tuscan leather banquettes, Venetian mirrors, and East River views upstairs. The menu signals more ambition than the genre usually delivers, from tableside salads to a gorgonzola-cured Wagyu strip loin that earns the detour onto the menu. Sharply dressed servers, the whole production.

Nearly everything on the menu at this upscale-casual steakhouse passes over live fire, from ribeyes and Berkshire pork chops to roasted carrots and tagliatelle. Josiah Citrin keeps the room feeling more Venice backyard than white-tablecloth, with concrete walls and beige booths absorbing the noise of a crowd that tends to linger at the bar well past happy hour. The Michelin Guide has it on their list.

A steakhouse on the Chicago River where the windows actually earn their keep. The beef is butchered and dry-aged in-house, cooked over high heat until the crust is doing real work. Sides run the classic route, creamed spinach and potatoes, and the wine list is long enough to keep a table of deal-closers busy. The room is warm wood and leather, loud in a good way, and nobody here is lingering over a solo lunch.

High ceilings and chandeliers set the tone inside this Italian-leaning steakhouse at the Vinoy Resort, where the menu pivots between wood-fired cuts and house-made pasta without apologizing for either direction. The focaccia pull-apart rolls arrive glistening, and the radiatore alla vodka clings to every ridge the way a good vodka sauce is supposed to. The caramel coffee budino lands in a sundae glass, which feels right.

The courtyard is the reason to come: massive pines overhead, string lights threaded through the branches, and enough Santa Monica evening air to make you forget the drive on Wilshire. Fia is an Italian steakhouse that leans into the setting with a menu built around local organic produce and the kind of clever touches that sneak up on you. The crowd tends toward people who've been doing this longer than the valet has been alive.

A New Mexico native runs this steakhouse on Washington Avenue, and the menu keeps things focused: USDA Prime cuts, a serious wine list, and sides that don't phone it in. Regulars know to book ahead, though the bar is always a reasonable fallback. The bourbon pecan bread pudding with sea salt caramel has a way of making the decision to skip dessert feel foolish.

A gourmet butcher shop and steakhouse tucked into a beachy cottage is not the obvious pairing, but here we are. The chef runs a tight, meat-forward room where ribeyes go over a wood-fire grill and a multicourse omakase hands the whole evening over to the kitchen. The Michelin Guide has taken notice. Finish with the warm cookies and crème anglaise, which lands somewhere between dessert and a dare.

A steakhouse in Myrtle Beach where the signature move is Angus beef finished with a Pittsburgh-style charred crust, which sounds like a cooking method that belongs in a boxing documentary but works remarkably well on a ribeye. The room skews relaxed and polished without taking itself too seriously, and the bar is a full-service anchor. The Michelin Guide has it selected, which keeps the crowd a notch dressier than the surrounding beach traffic.

The wood-burning grill anchoring the dining room doubles as the whole design statement at this Wynwood open-fire steakhouse, where dry-aged cuts and smoked lamb chops share the menu with lighter starters that hold their own. The glossy tables and spotlight-lit bar draw a crowd that stays for the cocktail list and the weekend DJ. Dress like you planned to be here.

Butterscotch leather banquettes and teal-blue tiles set the tone at this modern steakhouse tucked in a separate building on the Hotel San Luis Obispo grounds. The contemporary Southwest look is a bit of a scene, and the staff know the menu well enough that you should let them lead. Charred steaks arrive with sides like creamed spinach crowned with onion rings, which is the kind of comfort move that makes a hotel restaurant feel less like a consolation prize.

Potato gratin baked inside a caramelized Vidalia onion shell is about as much as a steakhouse side needs to say for itself. The Butcher's Club sits inside PGA National Resort and leans into the golf-club-steakhouse pairing with no apology, running a classic menu of wagyu, bison, and Florida stone crab. Jeremy Ford's name is on the door, and the prices match the pedigree. Wear a collared shirt and bring someone else's expense account.

Star Rover is a casual, checkered-tablecloth steakhouse that moved into the old Superica space, and it has the brick walls and vintage portraits to look like it's been there since the Eisenhower years. Pick a cut, and the salad, milk rolls, fries, and onion rings arrive without negotiation. The 76-ounce challenge gets you a free meal and a photo on the wall, which is a lot of beef to trade for a photo.

A freestanding fireplace anchors the dining room at this steakhouse on a former mill site, and the front door alone stops people mid-stride. Counter service keeps the mood loose despite the chic surroundings, which is a combination Springfield seems happy to have. The setting does real work without taking itself too seriously, and the kitchen is focused on steak.

The neon Googie sign out front has been promising sugar steak to Colfax drivers for longer than most Denver restaurants have existed. Bastien's is an old-school steakhouse with a sunken bar, mid-century bones, and servers who've been around long enough to know your order. The sugar steak earned a spot on Eater's list of Denver's most iconic dishes, and the dirty martini situation won a Westword award in 2023, which feels about right for a room this committed to its era.

Glass, marble, and open-flame grills fill a room that makes clear this is a steakhouse with architectural ambitions. Downtown Detroit's Prime + Proper dry-ages its USDA Prime and Japanese Miyazaki cuts in-house before the fire gets anywhere near them, which is either discipline or showmanship, and possibly both. The wine list swings between Napa and the Old World. It ranked 65th on the World's Best Steak Restaurants list, for what that's worth on a Tuesday night in Michigan.

Grandson Steaks is a casual all-day Sonoran steakhouse and butcher shop in the Liberty Station arts district, built around the northern Mexican grilling its owners grew up eating. Expect shareable steak feasts that don't require a second mortgage, plus tostadas, tacos, and a bar with wine, beer, and cocktails. It's the kind of place where you arrive in shorts and leave planning a cookout you will not execute as well.

This is a Brazilian churrascaria in the Gaslamp Quarter, the all-you-can-eat kind where meat arrives on skewers and gets sliced at your table until you surrender. It's been a fixture here forever, and after a fire during Comic-Con shut it down for two years, it has reopened over mesquite charcoal. Pace yourself at the salad bar, wear pants with give, and bring someone who can keep up with the pork ribs.

A short walk from the Staten Island Ferry, this old-school steakhouse keeps the lights low, the wood dark, and the ambitions firmly on the plate. Dry-aged steaks anchor the menu, with oysters close behind. No spectacle, no trend-chasing, just that particular outer-borough calm that suggests the room has been quietly holding its ground for a very long time and sees no reason to stop.

Black tablecloths and béarnaise sauce in a city that keeps reinventing itself: Antiquity has been Old Town's steakhouse for the kind of dinner that comes with a ring box or a round number. Oysters Rockefeller, beef carpaccio, bacon-wrapped filet, all delivered with the formal unhurried pace that casual-dining culture declared dead years ago. The room hasn't flinched, and neither have the regulars who seem to book the same corner table every anniversary.

Carlyle Club sits on the Chicago River and runs a menu that can't decide between a steakhouse and a sushi bar, then declines to choose. Dry-aged steaks share the table with raw bar towers, handmade pasta, and a wagyu cooked over binchotan. There's a small sushi counter for the committed, plus hand rolls at the bar for everyone else. Expect an all-day, expense-account kind of room where a burger and a lobster pie coexist peacefully.

There's no menu at this old-school New Orleans steakhouse, just a cut, a dressing, a starch, and the implicit social contract that you say yes to the onion rings. No leather booths, no cowboy kitsch, no performance of steakhouse-ness whatsoever. The room has been left mostly untouched by its current owners, which is the right call. The New York Times named it among the 25 best restaurants in New Orleans.

An Argentinian steakhouse in Pittsburgh's Cultural District where the wood-fired grill does the talking and the line outside does the bragging. Proteins come off the fire with a serious char, and the chimichurri and sides hold their own beside them. The Parrillada Mixta platter is the move for the undecided, though regulars tend to land on the flap steak and stop second-guessing themselves.

Hayworth is a Jewish steakhouse in Henderson, which means challah knots where the dinner rolls would be and whipped chicken schmaltz where the butter usually goes. It's dressed-up date-night territory, with plush booths, icy martinis, and well-dressed neighbors airing grievances about their cooling bills over latkes crowned with roe. The pastrami is finished with bone marrow jus, and the babka comes home with you.

Kevin Lee, a Food Network regular, named this Uptown Oklahoma City steakhouse and seafood restaurant after the Korean word for flavor, which is either confident or on the nose, depending on how the scallion pancake lands for you. The menu builds on Lee's earlier steakhouse work, folding in premium seafood, Korean sauces and sides, and a craft cocktail list in a space he describes as the restaurant he always wanted to open.

Dollar bills stapled to the ceiling, beer signs on the wooden walls, and a faded crimson building past West Tuscaloosa that the locals call Nick's in the Sticks. This old-school steakhouse has been serving filets alongside deep-fried classics like onion rings and chicken livers long enough that the prices still seem frozen in a different era. The Nicodemus, a fruit punch and four-spirits situation, arrives while you wait, which is a service to everyone involved.

Susu is a steakhouse on West Randolph that borrows from Middle Eastern, Mediterranean, and Asian kitchens, so the usual creamed spinach has some company. It also runs a weekend bakery out of the back entrance, where pre-ordered croissants, shakshuka danish, and tahini canele get picked up like contraband. The breakfast sandwich comes loaded with house-made wagyu sujuk, which is a lot of ambition for a pita.

A rotating supper club perched atop the Galt House Hotel, Swizzle turns slowly enough that you'll catch the Ohio River from every seat without getting up. The menu runs prime steaks, sustainable seafood, and local produce, but the signature move is the 1910 Old Fashioned, served under a cloud of smoke in a box, a nod to a long-ago distillery fire. Retro in spirit, deliberately theatrical in execution.

The Golden Ox has been in the Stockyards District forever, and it carries the beef-town energy like a badge. It's an old-school steakhouse with porterhouses that require a plan, oysters Rockefeller, and creamy cocktails like the Pink Squirrel for anyone feeling retro. The team claims the Kansas City strip originated here, which Kansas City is happy to believe. The adjoining Stockyards Brewery handles nightcaps when you want the Western aesthetic to go a little longer.

The room was a bank once, and it still looks like money, with soaring beaux arts ceilings, massive pillars, and ironwork that makes you straighten up just walking in. Marble Room is a prime steakhouse and raw bar doing caviar, seafood towers, and serious cuts in one of Cleveland's grandest spaces. Live music fills the room on weekends, which somehow fits the scale perfectly.

Cocktails arrive in mini bathtubs and disco-ball goblets, which tells you everything about the vibe before you've touched your steak. This is a steakhouse with a set-price format: most meals come with salad, sauce, and a side built in, running from a house sirloin cap up to a 32-ounce tomahawk for the committed. The room is dim and deliberately sexy, free popcorn lands on the table first, and the whole thing is priced to feel like a night out rather than a special occasion.

Toro Toro is a Pan-Latin steakhouse inside the Downtown Four Seasons, where the meat shows up on a cart and gets finished at your table, as if the steak needed an entrance. Richard Sandoval's menu also runs a ceviche and sushi bar, so the table can split between the cow people and the fish people without a fight. Expect hotel-dining prices and a room dressed for business dinners and anniversaries.

The 100-day dry-aged tomahawk arrives on a silver platter, which tells you everything about the room. Tutto Carne is an Italian-themed steakhouse in Little Italy, with chophouse classics like steak tartare and shrimp cocktail sharing the menu with bistecca alla Fiorentina and chateaubriand. The kitchen pulls its meat from a sister butcher shop, which tends to show. Forty-five seats keep things close, and the bistro vibe softens the splurge just enough.

Adobe fireplaces, dark wood beams, and exposed brick set the mood at this old-school steakhouse that's been around forever in Tucson's east side. The menu runs from steakhouse classics into stranger territory, kangaroo tenderloin among them, and the surf and turf gets a hit of Tajín that signals exactly where you are. Classic martinis arrive loaded with ice chips, and happy hour has clearly had regulars for decades.

Fire pits ringed by outdoor couches give this Springfield steakhouse the feel of a backyard party that got very good at cooking beef. The patio draws a celebratory crowd, and the menu obliges them with filet mignon and fresh oysters alongside a dessert called Sex in a Bowl, which is crème brûlée inside a chocolate shell with cheesecake mousse. No one is here to be understated, and the kitchen seems to respect that.

Fioretta is a Fulton Market Italian steakhouse styled after a 1950s supper club, which means a lounge with a stage, a roving cart that makes your Caesar at the table, and cannoli stuffed with wagyu tartare. Expect dressed-up people, shared pastas, and a shellfish tower that arrives like an event. Book ahead, and know that dinner here involves a live band and a fair number of Sunday prime rib orders.

Marmo is an Italian chophouse in Montrose Collective, the sort of place where a baby grand sits in the bar and a local musician plays it while you decide between a cowboy ribeye and a 42-ounce Porterhouse, both dry-aged. The sauce list includes porcini bone marrow jus, so the beef is not working alone. Wear something nice, order pasta for the table, and give the 22-page wine list the attention it clearly expects.

This is a steakhouse that stayed old-school while the rest of River North went glam, and it has the two-story building to show for it. The menu runs to chops, veal, and chicken Parm alongside the steaks, and regulars start with the Garbage Salad, which comes with salami and jumbo shrimp, so it's not a salad in any meaningful sense. The room is full of Chicago deal-makers who haven't changed their order since the Eisenhower years.

The Beef & Liberty Bar is the second-floor cocktail room of a London steakhouse that took over a restored River North building, all barrel-vaulted ceilings and jewel-toned booths. It's known for sub-zero martinis served cold enough to count as a personality trait, plus a happy hour with Reuben nuggets. Expect dressed-up regulars and a bar program that landed a Top 10 Nominee spot for U.S. Bartender of the Year.