A ribeye has to be grilled. A strip steak or a filet goes in the skillet.
Or you COULD have it like I like it. We used to raise two steers a year for the freezer (six kids and all kind of liked this thing called "food"). My cousin had married a big old backwoods boy who I used to like to hunt and fish with. Good guy. Kind that would help you move. Which we did. A lot. Helped each other move. Even after I got married at the ripe old age of seventeen, I still came out every day and worked the farm to help make sure the lagging younguns didn't get all peaked from not eating and whatnot - long story short, I called Chris up one day, told him I had a steer to drop and asked him if he could meet me the next morning at daylight, as there was a frost forecast. He had never spent much time on a farm, and other than the sackful of squirrels we used to clean and the occasional deer one or the other of us had taken, had never been involved in dressing anything as large as that steer. Told you he was a good guy.
Anyway, we pulled the trailer down to the feedlot, I got out and dropped that steer with a .22 CCI Mini-Mag between the eyes just like I always did, hooked him up to the winch, drug him on the trailer and hauled him up to the skinning tree. After getting him hooked up to the single tree and hauling him up with block and tackle, I whipped out the skinner and went to work. I had the hide worked down over one hindquarter, and just reached up with that skinner and sliced me off a long shank of fresh beef. What with both hands being busy, I just kind of placed that piece of meat between my front teeth to hold and work on while my hands worked on the steer. I guess it must have been fresh enough to have at *least* a bit of wiggle left in it, because it went into a spasm. It was at this time I heard Chris *all the way at the other end of the house* heading for his truck mumbling obscenities about half dead cows and cannibals. I had to promise to never do that again in order to keep from dressing that steer out alone. lol
Two times Mama watched me like a hawk. One was picking dew berries (more were liable to wind up in me than in the bucket), and boning out meat to grind hamburger (same problem).
Best way for me to cook a steak? Slap it under my shirt, make two armpit farts, and it's well done. lol