The best restaurants to take dad to in NYC

Although a slew of Luger copycats have prospered in the last several years, none have captured the elusive charm of this stucco walled, beer-hall style eatery, with well-worn wooden floors and tables, and waiters in waist coats and bow ties. Excess is the thing, be it the reasonably health- conscious tomato salad (thick slices of tomato and onion with an odd addition of steak sauce), the famous porterhouse for two, 44 ounces of sliced prime beef, or the decent apple strudel, which comes with a bowl full of schlag. Go for it all—it’s a singular New York experience that’s worth having.

The young guns behind Carbone have moved beyond sentimentality in their homage to Italian; mob restaurants by flipping the whole genre onto its head. The spot, from tag-team chefs Rich Torrisi and Mario Carbone, is a Godfather hangout on steroids, more fantastical set piece than history-bound throwback. Like Torrisi and Parm, their earlier projects together, it’s a hyped-up spin on a vanishing form, a restaurant where, bread sticks to bowties, everything looks, tastes and feels like much more of itself.

For three decades Keith McNally’s New York restaurants have defined effortless cool, generating the sort of overnight buzz—and long-running exclusivity—institutions are made of. Minetta Tavern, a West Village relic reborn, may be the first iconic restaurant of postmillennial recession New York. The lovingly restored dining room is as nostalgic as the '21’ Club’s—and getting in the door as difficult as penetrating Graydon Carter’s Waverly Inn. But unlike the Vanity Fair editor’s celebrity canteen, Minetta’s prices are reasonable, and the food is as much of a draw as the scene.

Fowler & Wells—Tom Colicchio’s first new Manhattan restaurant since opening Colicchio & Sons six years ago—is visually impressive: The handsome brick-walled room is fitted with mohair-velvet banquettes, stained-glass wall panels and its own set of large custom chandeliers, which successfully distract from the industrial piping that also hangs from the restaurant’s lofty ceilings. In place of gastro nerdiness, Colicchio and executive chef Bryan Hunt offer polished, straightforward American food at Fowler & Wells, the kind of plates on which a smattering of shaved truffle is considered spicing up the relationship. You’re here for seasonal, dependable cooking that’s informed by the past but without any schmaltzy kitsch.

It may be sacrilege to say it, but it seems that the legendary 96 -year-old Grand Central Oyster Bar, located in the epic and gorgeous hub that shares its name, is running on fumes. The surly countermen at the mile-long bar (the best seat in the house) are part of the charm, but the fishy lobster roll, overly breaded fried clams and ketchup-tasting pan roast are not. Play it safe—and classic—with a reliably awe-inspiring platter of iced, just-shucked oysters (there can be a whopping three-dozen varieties to choose from at any given time, from Baja to Plymouth Rock) and enjoy the vaulted-ceiling view. As long as the station is abuzz and the oysters good—they are—the other food is really beside the point.

Empellón is the fourth, largest and most upscale of Alex Stupak's restaurants under the Empellón name (Cocina, Taqueria, Al Pastor). The move uptown alone is a notable change for the largely downtown-focused restaurateur (Empellón’s siblings all reside in the East and West Villages), and the usual clientele of denim-jacketed michelada seekers has been swiftly replaced by Brooks Brothers regulars and blog-savvy tourists. Dad will love the upscale, creative Mexican offerings like the falafel and grasshopper tacos or the sea urchin nachos.

This cavernous cafeteria is a repository of New York history—glossies of celebs spanning the past century crowd the walls, and the classic Jewish deli offerings are nonpareil. Start with a crisp-skinned, all-beef hot dog for just $3.10. Then flag down a meat cutter and order a legendary sandwich. The brisket sings with horseradish, and the thick-cut pastrami stacked high between slices of rye is the stuff of dreams. Everything tastes better with a glass of the hoppy house lager; if you’re on the wagon, make it a Dr. Brown’s.

The ceiling and walls are hung with pipes, some from such long-ago Keens regulars as Babe Ruth, J.P. Morgan and Teddy Roosevelt. Even in these nonsmoking days, you can catch a whiff of the restaurant’s 120-plus years of history. Beveled-glass doors, two working fireplaces and a forest’s worth of dark wood suggest a time when “Diamond Jim” Brady piled his table with bushels of oysters, slabs of seared beef and troughs of ale. The menu still lists a three-inch-thick mutton chop (imagine a saddle of lamb but with more punch) and desserts such as key lime pie. Sirloin and porterhouse (for two or three) hold their own against any steak in the city.

New Yorkers love to bestow cult status on their favorite haunts, from century-old dive bars to mystery-meat street carts and yes, Irish burger joints. Among the latter is Upper East Side patty icon, J.G. Melon, whose simple menu and old-school ambience have drawn in both locals and destination-seeking visitors for over 40 years.

Delmonico’s, which opened on William Street in 1831, was the country’s first fine-dining establishment. Today, long past its heyday, it’s become little more than a tourist trap. But still, drag dad here, explain the history and dig into the hearty fare.