We can only assume this joint is named after the city and not our crack-addled friend, Whitney. Considering the size of the portions and the wealth of high-calorie meat products, we can imagine the cattlemen, and not the sweaty skeleton we’ve seen singing of late, sitting around in their Stetsons dreaming up another special burger or fattening dip. We can’t say that they’d approve of the gaggles of yuppie suit guys crowded around the dimly-lit, dark wood bar, but they may like their blonde friends in the tight pants and skirts. The restaurant itself manages to take the idea of a chain and make it upscale and comfortable, drawing the after-work, heavy-cell-phone-user, early-thirty-something crowd that makes up such a large percentage of the midtown clientele. I must say, despite my initial trepidation, that the artichoke dip was one of the best appetizers I’ve ever had, and the burgers are some of the best around. Mr. Hipster has sold out! [MF]
378 Park Ave. S.