21 Club

From the pages of Valley of the Dolls and scenes from Madmen, Sex in the City...the iconic New York '21' Club has been on my radar for some time. In celebration of my new job, we fell out of a cab to be greeted by the notorious cast-iron jockeys. Established in 1922 as a speakeasy, the venue has a sexy history full of celebrities, affluent regulars (which gifted the jockeys to represent the colors of the stables they owned) and serving every president since FDR, aside from George W. Bush. Come now, W, join the cool kids club? Few restaurants in New York City still hold dress codes, however, '21' Club requires a jacket and tie, as well those wearing jeans will not be permitted.

A doormen ushered us into the foyer where we requested a libation in the Bar Room, before taking our reservation upstairs. We settled in the corner and took in the walls and ceiling covered in antique toys. Two glasses of bubbly and a dish of wasabi peas, crostini and mixed nuts were placed before us by a warm, genuine cocktail waitress.

After finishing our bubbly, we allowed the host to lead us upstairs to the soft, pastel paintings of city streets. We tucked ourselves under the white linen table cloth and transitioned to cocktails, a vodka gimlet for myself. Pitch perfect. I decided to select my prix fixe from the Restaurant Week Menu, my company continued with the regular prix fixe.

For our starters, I had requested the grilled calamari- which was unfortunately no longer available. Our vibrant waiter noted that bay shrimp with fennel and cucumber had been implemented to satisfy. I agreed. My company chose the seared foie gras with warm polenta cake, smoked chanterelles, figs, walnuts and concord grape reduction. The foie gras would have been improved if it had been seared more lightly, but the concord reduction was quite excellent in its tart quality.

For our mains, we both selected the smoked Berkshire pork belly with honey vinaigrette, sweet potato and roasted poblano peppers- his plate with the edition of two chops. As well, we had a side of mushrooms, which were dominated by oyster and shitake varieties. The portions were surprisingly generous- I certainly did not make an attempt to finish my plate. I leaned to our waiter who was circling the dining room like a the prom queen--gay with laughter and jokes approaching an eyebrow raise, "Where is the restroom?"

"Come with me, dear. It's European style, we're going all the way downstairs." He took me right to the door, on his arm all the while. A detail, which both charmed (he gave me advice on scoring the leather soles of my heels) and a bit awkward. I was afraid to pee again after that. I mean...would I be expected to flag him down to escort me again?

The waiter wrapped the pork belly I didn't finish tightly for my Pug and asked to see a photo of him while we mulled over the Port list. I noted that the Scottish woman across the room couldn't take her eyes off our table (and her partner was gazing lovingly at her while she did it). What's with that? Perhaps my stunning Armani dress? I took a ruby, my company a tawny. For our finale, I requested the creme brulee with chocolate chip shortbread and my company left the cheese course in the hands of our waiter. The cheese selection was quite generous for one, the creme had clearly been over beaten. We conversed lightly with the couple adjacent- they were in town from Alabama. '21' Club is their must each time they come into Manhattan.

Image 1: NewYorkology, Images: 2-4 from my iPhone.

a dinner at Cipriani Wall Street

We stepped into Cipriani Wall Street with thoughts of New York Restaurant Week. While the massive columns and celebrity rich past of the original Harry's Bar in Venice (Ernest Hemingway and Peggy Guggenheim were among the regulars) draw images of grandeur, the interior is a bit simple- bookshelves, lights that could be muted and kitschy Cipriani logos on every- single- glass and plate.

We took a seat at the bar for a cocktail while waiting for a table outside on the terrace. About thirty minutes later, we were seated (mind you, we had a reservation). We looked over the Restaurant Week prix fixe and found it unappealing. We decided to get the proper experience by ordering from the regular menu. Pitch-perfect servers brought us a bread basket and bottle of pinot grigio.

For our appetizers, we partook in the Bresaola and the Insalata di Fagiolini Caciocavallo E Pomodoro. The Bresaola came folded and laid over a bed of dressed arugula and thinly shaved fresh parmesan. Absolutely spot on, though I must admit I harbor a particular affection for all of those ingredients. The Insalata di Fagiolini also impressed me with large slices of Octopus served poached and chilled with braised green beans, halved grape tomatoes and black olives. Both plates were massive in terms of appetizers and better suited for larger parties- or perhaps just one appetizer to be shared between the table.

For our mains, we decided to continue dining family-style. We selected the Cotoletta Alla Milanese and Scallops. The Cotoletta is perhaps the best veal I've ever tasted. Lightly breaded, it nearly melted in my mouth with a sexy buttery aftertaste. The Scallops were a good contrast, plump and massive, they circled a pile of broiled and olive oil rich artichokes. Both dishes came with oversized bowls of white rice pilaf, which in my opinion could have been avoided all together. I'm not quite sure how we finished the plates (the rice went nearly untouched), but perhaps it was the two and a half hours we took to indulge.

What happened next- well it nearly ruined the idyllic New York dining experience. Three men in goofy smiles surrounded us with dying desserts- a slumped over berry and cream cake, something chocolate and something- well whatever it was- it had seen better days. A simple menu or perhaps a better presentation would have sold my already full stomach. This however, was discouraging. A detail, that I must admit I am thankful for, as we really didn't need to punctuate the night with gluttony.