Seahorse

Just after its 5 pm opening last Wednesday night, I claimed one of the few empty seats at the vibrant central bar of the reborn W Union Square’s new restaurant, Seahorse. Sunlight poured in through slats on the west- and south-facing windows, drenching the room in a dreamy autumnal late-afternoon glow. Waiting for a friend, I watched the light chase itself across the bar into the adjacent dining room, which was also about to come alive.

Around the turn of the century, this restaurant space housed Olives, the first New York City restaurant from Boston wunderkind chef Todd English. Believe me when I tell you: in its early years, Olives was a cool power center that balanced the perennially hot Blue Water Grill on Union Square’s west side. Olives shuttered in 2014, Blue Water Grill in 2019, and with the loss of Coffee Shop around the same time, Union Square itself lost its luster as a dining (and drinking) destination.

Seahorse changes that. It’s impossible not to think of Soho classic Lure Fishbar when stepping inside, and not just because they both put seafood at the center of the menu and share longtime restaurateur John McDonald as owner and impresario. But the restaurants are not twins.

There’s no sushi at Seahorse, for one, though a sizable oyster bar, clad in blue tiles that evoke mermaid scales, anchors the far side of the bright, airy dining room. There’s also that sunlight, which helps give the room — crowned by a whimsical seafaring mural — a light, airy feel, distinct from Lure’s below-deck vibes.

At a preview dinner at Seahorse a few weeks earlier, I went deep on chef John Villa’s relatively straightforward menu, starting with a platter of Kumamoto, Oishii, and Beau Soleil oysters, proffered with individualized relishes for each. A trio of crudos was served simply and properly with salt and abundant olive oil, while Skull Island prawns, drenched in Calabrian chili, brought the heat. Main courses upped the wow factor, with seared tuna au poivre (accompanied by perfect McDonald ’s-style fries) and Dover sole, a platonic ideal of the dish, artfully filleted at a tableside cart and doused in Meuniere. (The turf options include roasted duck a l’orange and Amish farm chicken.)

Back at the bar last week with my just-arrived friend, sipping a house white Negroni and eating a bar snack of Maine lobster on brioche toast — an open-faced lobster roll, delightful — I couldn’t help but feel that New York City needed this once-vibrant corner of the city to come back to life. Yes, there’s a passageway at the back of the bar into the W hotel lobby. And yes, hotel guests make up part of the clientele (shoutout to the two women from Seattle sitting next to us at the bar watching the ALDS on their iPad).

But Seahorse is also an instantly cool new New York City destination, for a power dinner or just a quick drink, right where we always needed it. –Lockhart Steele

→ Seahorse (Union Square) • 201 Park Avenue South • Reserve.

Restaurant Rush, Fall 2025

• Unglo (Upper West Side), Thai barbecue in former Picholine space, reserve

• Danny’s (Flatiron, above top), ABC legal analyst Dan Abrams’ clubhouse for media friends and more, reserve

• La Boca (Chelsea), Argentine chef Francis Mallmann’s first NYC spot, for food charred on plancha at new Faena NY, intel, reserve

• Seahorse (Union Square), upscale seafood spot grabs pole position at remade W Union Square, intel above, reserve

• Wild Cherry (West Village), Le Rock’s Riad Nasr and Lee Hanson take over restaurant at Cherry Lane Theater, reserve

• Cove (Hudson Square), chef Flynn McGarry’s new spot, for 8-course tasting menu ($210 per) or à la carte, reserve

• Muku (Tribeca), Sushi Ichimura reborn as kaiseki-inspired 10-course counter, $295 per, intel, reserve

• Barbuto Brooklyn (Brooklyn Heights, above), chef Jonathan Waxman takes his West Village classic to 1Hotel Brooklyn Bridge, reserve

• Bar Lumière (Columbia St. Waterfront), New American cooking from Junoon vet, plus wines by Andre Mack, reserve

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Being the executive chef at an iconic restaurant in New York City is a daunting task that demands endless hours, nonstop dedication, and a near-superhuman ability to multitask.

For more than a decade, Preston Clark has done just that at the iconic Soho favorite, Lure Fishbar. Now, Clark has taken on the task of helming the kitchen at a second restaurant: Bar Mercer, the West Houston Street restaurant that opened just a month ago in the former Bar Tulix space. Mercer Street Hospitality owns both restaurants.

Clark says he created a menu at Bar Mercer that speaks to how people like to eat. “It’s a neighborhood spot, so the menu is approachable. I wanted to create dishes that I like to eat. I wanted to create a craving.”

The chef has succeeded.

The menu reads like a list of favorites like a grilled pork chop with mushroom and cipollini white wine sauce, a filet au poivre with peppercorn sauce, a proper burger (with American cheese), and the “hangover pasta”, a comforting bowl of chitarra, ham, bacon, and a sunny side egg. “I’m a little more out of the box from Lure, because I don’t have to stick to a predominantly seafood menu. It’s fun for me to do a chicken liver mousse or a sliced ribeye on the blackboard,” he says.

The restaurant is also causing a sensation with its mini pigs in a blanket — a modern rendition of a retro classic cocktail party snack that is the ideal companion to a pre-dinner martini.

Clark says his inspiration came from English Pubs mixed with a classic New York hotspot with a close, personal connection: The Odeon — a restaurant that his father, Patrick Clark, the first Black chef in the U.S. to win a James Beard award, helped open with restaurateur Keith McNally back in 1981.

The elder Clark, whose career included helming the kitchen at Tavern on the Green, helped forge Patrick’s career from a young age. “My father would take me to work with him when I was young. I decided to be a chef when I was 13 or 14.” One of Clark’s first jobs was at Tavern under the guidance of his dad. Though the Lure and Bar Mercer chef lost his father nearly 20 years ago, he continues to be the driving force in Patrick’s career.

As executive chef of Lure Fishbar, Clark has placed his mark on another iconic New York establishment. “I’ve been there so long, I feel like it’s mine,” he says of the SoHo seafood house. In a city where dozens of restaurants open daily, Clark says the secret to success lies in simply making guests happy. “There are so many flash-in-the-pan restaurants that people never return to. I want people to enjoy the restaurant so much they return. That’s the key to longevity.”

Clark says being a chef is satisfying not only for the food but for the community building. “We’re able to provide jobs and be a part of the fabric of the city. I can help by teaching people a skill. If you’re able to change the life trajectory of a few people, that’s being successful.”

With leading two restaurants in Manhattan, Clark says the only challenge is trying to make room to try out other restaurants to stay current on dining trends. He admits to eating at home a lot with his son but says he makes time for a few favorites, like sister restaurant, Cha Cha Tang for the roasted duck and dumplings by chef Doron Wong. “I love how clean the food eats,” he says.

You might also find Clark at Bar Mercer on his days off. “I like to eat there to make sure the chefs are executing the dishes properly. Plus, I love the menu,” he confesses.

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The year was 1986, and New York’s new Le Bernardin had just received a four-star rating from The New York Times. As I was leaving the restaurant, a gentleman in front of me blurted out, “I would eat here every night if it wasn’t so expensive!”

The cost of the fixed-price, three-course meal back then was $55. The next year, it rose to $60. The word “inflation” was on nobody’s mind.

New Yorkers these days consider the price of dinner a prime topic of conversation. This past October, a breaded, fried veal chop at one of my favorite Italian restaurants, Sandro’s on the Upper East Side, was $50, a startling figure. Today, that same veal chop is $55, meaning it rose at an annualized inflation rate of 9 percent.

Not intimidated by the price? In that case, I can direct you to a restaurant where the veal chop is $89.

I asked a number of New York chefs, all from highly regarded restaurants, to explain these rising prices. Some allowed me to use their name, but many asked to remain anonymous, perhaps dreading a negative reaction from customers. Not one disputed my premise that prices had reached record heights with no relief in sight.

One chef, anonymously, blamed Donald Trump: As president, he hindered immigration, a source of lower-wage workers vital to the industry. The minimum wage is $15 an hour in New York, but many restaurants are paying as much as $25—that’s $37.50 for overtime—due to a shortage of kitchen help.

The chef of a two-Michelin-starred restaurant offered insights into the rising cost of necessities. Butter, the non-fancy kind, is up from $2.44 per pound to $4.30; fingerling potatoes, from $1.75 per pound to $4.75; frying oil, from 65 cents per pound to $1.73; heavy cream, from $3.75 per quart to $6.75.

And, the chef added, vendors have begun charging for deliveries.

Another said, “Salaries are crazy. The minimum wage used to be $15. Now young people with no experience tell us how much they want.” He added, “Pre-COVID, you could make your margins: 30 percent food, 30 percent salaries, 30 percent operating costs. If you respected that, you make 10 percent in profits. Everything was pretty good.”

He added, “I see prices going down in houses and cars. I don’t see food going down.”

Jose de Meirelles, owner of the cherished kosher steak house Le Marais, says kosher restaurants face identical problems. Plus, they have an added labor cost: a mashgiah on the premises to certify their food. The price of kosher meat, he added, has risen by 40 percent in the past five years.

There is little escape from the hundred-dollar-per-person dinner in New York. Actually, that bill would be considered moderate. Prestigious establishments offer much more expensive fixed-price meals. Four courses at Daniel are $188; six at Jean-Georges, $268; four at Le Bernardin, $198; nine at Per Se, $390. That’s per person.

Should you find yourself paying less than $100 for your meal, you are either very fortunate or drinking ice water with dinner.

I used to shiver in delight when handed a massive wine list in a New York restaurant, knowing I could seek out an overlooked bottle of Bordeaux or Châteauneuf-du-Pape at a price that hadn’t risen in years. Not anymore. I suspect New York wine lists are now curated by accountants, not sommeliers.

One example is the wine list at Gramercy Tavern. It offers more than a thousand wines in the traditional 750-ml. format, but fewer than 10 percent of them cost less than $100. From the list, I randomly picked a bottle of Bernard Baudry Chinon Les Granges 2021 for analysis. It likely cost the restaurant $14 to $16. On the wine list, it is $88. Add tax and tip to the bill, and you will probably pay about $115 for a bottle that sells for $20 in a wine shop.

Lately, I’ve been drinking a lot more beer when I go out.

Adam Leonti, chef of the wonderful new Cucina Alba, noted that he offers a three-pound short rib that feeds six to eight for $148. “We give the best value we can,” he said—“competitive pricing for the neighborhood.” Then he added, “The rent is absurd.”

Amanda Cohen, chef-owner of the beloved vegetarian restaurant Dirt Candy, said of her prices, “Food used to be 25 percent of our cost of doing business. Now it’s 12 percent. The money goes to pay our staff.”

Daniel Rose, chef of the celebrated Le Coucou, believes “the days of the great restaurants may be over.”

He pointed out an unexpected challenge to their survival: “The people who work in restaurants can no longer afford to live near their restaurants, at least not in New York.” Rents for New York apartments have accelerated in the past year, as the coronavirus has faded. Added Rose, “Before, restaurant workers could live two subway stops away. Proximity was part of New York's greatness. No longer. And people have less tolerance for what it takes to get to work.”

Having said that, he noted, “When was it ever possible to go to New York and not take out a second mortgage to pay for it?”

Thomas Keller, the owner of Per Se, pushed back at my premise that New York City restaurants are becoming alarmingly expensive. “Go to Paris or London,” he said. “It’s far more expensive to eat there than in New York. I don’t know why people are always talking about New York prices. Eating is not always about bargains. It is also about value, about an experience. You buy a Mercedes, you are comfortable with what you spend.”

To be fair, it seems that posh restaurants are not the only dining establishments absorbing financial blows. A recent front-page headline in the New York Post announced a dreaded development in the near-sacred business of selling pizza by the slice. It read, LAST DOLLAR SLICE IN NYC IS NOW $1.50.

A former sportswriter for the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Alan Richman has won 16 James Beard Foundation Awards for his journalism on food and wine, and a National Magazine Award for feature writing

Illustration: Heritage Images/TopFoto. Photos: Aleksey Butenkov/Alamy (apple); antoniptruzzi/iStock/Getty Images (plate); Mike Kemp/Tetra Images/Alamy (money fork); © Swim Ink 2, L.L.C./Corbis/Getty Images (skyline)

At the age of 26, Will Guidara took over a beautiful New York City brasserie that was more flash than substance. Under the guidance of the young restaurateur, Eleven Madison Park transformed into one of the world’s finest dining establishments.

Guidara’s key to success was his total commitment to hospitality in all its forms. His new book, Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect, is filled with stories of his journey, from his time at restaurants by Daniel Boulud and Danny Meyer, to his current success.

The book also outlines Guidara’s philosophy that to succeed, you should exceed all expectations, and that everyone — no matter what we do for a living — can “transform ordinary transactions into extraordinary experiences”.

Broken Palate’s John McDonald, himself a restaurateur and founder of Mercer Street Hospitality, sat down with Guidara to talk about hospitality and what that word means today.

John McDonald: You had lunch today at Balthazar. What do you think about Keith (McNally) and the way he reports on [Instagram] and publishes recaps of evenings at Minetta and Balthazar?

Will Guidara: He operates by his own set of rules. And I think it's refreshing actually. I don’t agree with everything he says, but I like that he says what he thinks and he's certainly not operating from a place of fear. And I think that that can be channeled in different ways.

JM: Before, we all had those conversations. They were just conversations that did not get shared or passed around. He's just publishing it and I love it. Most people I know think its refreshing that he will call it like it is - and with tough customers too.

WG: The thing is, okay, for sure, the way that a lot of people in our industry behaved 20 years ago is unacceptable. But it feels like we're a little bit too far on the other side where people never even say what they think. And I don't think we're getting the fully realized version of many people.

[Posting on social media] just provides some accountability to behavior, which is kind of a global issue right now that people don't feel like there's any accountability for their own behavior. Hospitality is about relationships. Relationships are a two-way street. if people read my book I hope what they walk away with is that the people who work in a business, it's their responsibility to be really, really kind. And there's no obligation placed on the people on the receiving end.

JM: I see you worked with Simon Sinek (The Optimism Company) on the book. I've always appreciated his perspective and his storytelling skills.

WG: He's one of my favorite people to flesh out an idea with. I'll be on in the car on my way somewhere and I'll call him up and I'll be like, all right dude, I was just thinking about this and it's really fun to find people that you can have a conversation with where there's enough air around it where you can just talk about an idea for the sake of talking about it.

It's not dissimilar to going for a drive. If you know exactly where you're trying to go, you put it into your Google Maps, and you just follow the instructions, then you're not gonna discover anywhere new.

JM: How do you feel about tech in restaurants? I'm glad that I experienced a time when you could plan dinner, sit at a table, and never be bothered by your phone, never be distracted. Everybody at the table was fully engaged and the power of four or five people at a table with everybody listening and looking at each other is something rare today.

WG: At Eleven Madison, we put a box on guests’ tables. And we said this is an invitation: Sometimes even if you don't wanna look at your phone, it's hard to not when it's in your pocket. And so if you want to be freed from it for a few hours, put it in a box.

But we took it even further. It's a fun game and I'm gonna take the box away and I'm gonna bring it back to the table at the end of the night. And so the whole idea was to not make people feel shame if they didn't. But then once it was in there, you didn't need to even worry about being the person that reached in. It was gone for the evening.

JM: And taking pictures of food in a restaurant, they're never good pictures, but people feel like they have to do it yet they are ruining their own experience by doing so in my opinion. No meal is made better by constantly snapping pictures and the people around you are negatively impacted as well.

WG: We took professional pictures of every single dish. And at the end of their meal, if they gave us the phone, we'd give them a little card with the link to a website where all the pictures were.

It’s the same with concerts. Look at me, I'm at a concert. I'm gonna take a really bad video, a bad picture. Even though I could just go online tomorrow and say Here's the picture of the Killer's concert professionally taken and tell my friends, I was there. But there's a weird behavior that, I mean I don't know how we break it. We have a Polaroid camera, and every few months I take a picture of my daughter and put it in an envelope. I guarantee you, in 20 years, the thousands of photos I've taken of my daughter on my phone are all going to be lost in the cloud somewhere. And I'll still be looking at those Polaroids.

JM: I often find myself using sports analogies as it relates to my restaurants, you?

WG: I like using sports analogies in spite of the fact that I don't know that much about sports really.

I was on a podcast with David Chang the other day, and he was using a sports analogy with me, and I was barely holding onto it. It was about the kind of offense that a football team uses. I love watching football, but I'm not like a football pro.

I think what I would asterisk is that good people can be exceptional. It's not an unrealistic expectation to find 80 or 100 people who all aspire to be rock stars. And that for me is more important. As long as everyone wants it, I can do something with that. In fact, I'd rather have a bunch of mediocre people who want to be amazing than a bunch of amazing people who think they're done growing.

JM: If I were a young server, for example, I'd take just five minutes a night to better myself at home. And maybe I happen to learn a nugget about Bordeaux, and I'm at a table, and someone says something about Bordeaux, and I just have this little bomb to drop. In weeks, months, and years, you become exceptional at the job.

WG It's about creating a process.

JM: And you did it at the highest level, which is remarkable. The high-level chefs that were in your space, there really is a different business because you're operating as if you're a surgeon, there's no room for error.

WG: Education, self-improvement, all of that. I think everything, whether it's hospitality, education, excellence, or whatever, you only improve if you make it into a practice.

I did a TED Talk a couple of months ago and one of the other guys that spoke the same day that I did was talking about reflection as a practice. One of the most valuable things I ever did, I did because my dad told me to do it.

I would journal for a few minutes every night after work to reflect on the day. And it's when I often realized I needed to apologize to someone the next day. Or that there was something I didn't handle well, that I want to do better the next time.

My dad was like, You're gonna own your own company one day and you're gonna want to be able to empathize with the people that work for you across positions. But perspective has an expiration date. He told me that there's no way you're ever going to be able to see the world through the eyes of a server once you're no longer a server, maybe for a couple of months as a manager, you're the manager on the team that understands the perspective of the servers.

But then you move on, and your perspective shifts. And so I think actually the thing I've been thinking about is establishing a practice of reflection. Because I do think that we can grow through learning from external things, and reading books, but I think we grow the most if we actually just stop and reflect on what just happened and see where we could do it differently or better.

JM: How about a few straightforward questions? What is the most memorable meal you have had?

WG In the skybox at Daniel with my dad back in 2001. My dad and I went there during a difficult time: I had just lost my mother. But the sheer magic of the meal, and the abundance of Daniel’s hospitality and generosity (to a kid that had just graduated from college no less) gave us a few hours of joy during one of the saddest moments of my life. It was a pivotal moment for me in connecting to how powerful bestowing graciousness on others can be. I wrote about it in the book- see below.

I had already happily chosen a life in restaurants, but that night, I learned how important, how noble, working in service can be. During a terribly dark time, Daniel and his staff offered my dad and me a ray of light in the form of a meal neither one of us will ever forget. Our suffer- ing didn’t disappear by any means, but for a few hours, we were afforded real respite from it. That dinner provided an oasis of comfort and resto- ration, an island of delight and care in the sea of our grief.

When you work in hospitality—and I believe that whatever you do for a living, you can choose to be in the hospitality business—you have the privilege of joining people as they celebrate the most joyful moments in their lives and the chance to offer them a brief moment of consolation and relief in the midst of their most difficult ones.

JM: Given you and your wife now live outside the city, what do you miss the most about New York City life?

WG: We still have our apartment in the city. I will never fully leave- though you are right I don’t spend as much time there as I once did. And the thing I miss the most is the restaurants. There are great restaurants in the Hudson valley as well, but the energy of a New York City dining room is singular in the world- the magic that happens around the table is hard to replicate anywhere else.

JM: The best advice for a young restaurateur who is thinking about opening his own place?  

Will: Don’t stress too much about all the things you don’t know- trust in your ability to figure it out, and spend the time finding the people (friends, mentors, or outside consultants) to help you learn. Too many people psych themselves out of opening a restaurant because there are so many things about being an owner that they haven’t done before- HR, accounting, etc. Nothing about our business is easy, but no single element of it is that hard either- so long as you bring passion and hard work to every facet of the operation.

JM: If there was a Chef Hall of Fame, who would you nominate?

WG: Daniel Boulud. He is an amazing cook, of course. But of the many amazing chefs I have gotten to know over the course of my career, he embodies the spirit of hospitality more than anyone.

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New York runs through my blood. If you ask me who I am I will say I am a New Yorker first and foremost.

As an adult, a gin and tonic or bloody mary at the Boathouse in Central Park was the mark of spring — the heady time when New Yorkers shed their winter coats and stroll Central Park in a t-shirt for the first time in months. Tavern on the Green held a special place in my heart as this magical villa in the middle of a forest right at the finish line of the New York Marathon (which I’ve run several times).

While I lived in New York, many of my friends gently mocked my love of these places. A fan of the Empire State Building’s observation deck, the Circle Line, and (gasp) Times Square, my view was always why let the tourists have all the fun?

A few weeks ago, I managed to sneak in some old chestnuts.

It was pouring out when I escaped the rain at Joe Allen. As I took a seat at the bar, I already knew what I wanted: A dirty gin martini with extra olives. My bartender obliged with a perfectly made cocktail complete with a sidecar and a small dish with three additional olive skewers. How could I not be hopelessly in love with a place like this?

Open since 1965 and located on NYC’s Restaurant Row, Joe Allen has long been a favorite with theatergoers and showbiz insiders. The restaurant is casual and comfortable — it’s a dark bar on a warm summer afternoon post-matinee and it's a warm refuge in the evenings. The food isn’t fancy but it’s solid: a great pub burger, a satisfying steak frites, and a divine salad of iceberg lettuce festooned with chunks of cheese and salami. The bar and adjacent dining room started buzzing as the plays let out. Playbills from Hamilton, Moulin Rouge, and Strange Loop appear on the bar as people sipped, ate, and reviewed what they just saw. The combination of friendliness and electricity makes me come back time and again.

The next day, my friend invited me for a drink at Sardi’s. This legend has been at its current 44th Street location in the heart of the Theater District since 1927. Sardi’s is best known for its caricatures of actors. Closely tied with Broadway, Sardi’s was the birthplace of the Tony awards and the scene of thousands of opening night parties. Our bartender had been working there for over 60 years — talk about an award-winning run.

As we walked down the stairs, the dining room was closed (the restaurant is currently only serving pre-show dinners, with the bar open for post-show drinks and bites). The manager, sitting at one of the tables, invited us to walk around and look at all the famous faces on the walls. The history was overwhelming: Hundreds of portraits by the late Al Hirschfeld including Lauren Bacall, Danny Thomas, Vincent Price, and my favorite right before me: Lucille Ball. The walls were practically singing the librettos of every single musical performed on the Great White Way. For a former theater kid who has never grown up, Sardi’s is an experience like no other.

Sunday evening, I received a text from my friend, Bobby: Want to meet up at Tavern on the Green in a half hour?

Ten minutes later, I was sipping on a New York State rose under a perfect sky. I turned around at the outside bar and took in the thousands of fairy lights strung over the patio, the faint clip-clopping of the carriage horses, and the people dining. After we finished our flatbread and downed the bottle of wine, we went inside to enjoy the first fireplace of the season and the rotating golden pegasuses dancing over the bar.

As we left, Bobby offered to hail a taxi for me, but I decided to walk the 20 blocks to my hotel. As I passed another New York icon, Lincoln Center, and worked my way through Times Square, I was reminded of why 60 million people visited it annually pre-pandemic.

If you travel to New York City, visit one or all of these spots for a taste of the iconic city that you see in movies. And if you’re a New Yorker, why not make it a point to have a drink or a meal at one of these spots? These are places with bars worn smooth by people, with walls that reverberate with the energy of years of laughter, and tell the tale of the greatest city in the world — one meal at a time.

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Many thanks to Chris Mohney of F&BQ&A on Substack — a site that features interviews with interesting people in the food and beverage industry as well as those in media, cooking, brewing, distilling, and spaces in-between.

This post is an audio and excerpt on Tasting Table/Broken Palate founder John McDonald — who has been on a tear opening restaurants under the Mercer Street Hospitality banner this year, including, most recently, Smyth Tavern in Tribeca, Bar Tulix in Soho, and Hancock St. in the West Village. Read on for more from John.

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Chris: Considering your dual career in both New York restaurants and media, how do you feel about the state of those industries?

John: The media thing has changed. You look at all the media outlets we’ve all grown up with, and it’s clear that normal media is destroyed. I think magazines are almost obsolete now. I just did a two hour in-person interview with Graydon Carter for Broken Palate. We talked about that a little bit—how everything’s a blog. There’s not a lot of real reporting. 

On the restaurant side, it’s kind of convoluted. When you look back to how people used to read restaurant reviews, you really took them seriously. You wanted to read Frank Bruni’s review, or Adam Platt’s. You had real criticism. 

But criticism has changed. Everyone’s a critic. Your restaurant—your product that you put your heart and soul into—is constantly under attack. I’m not crying about that. You have to do your job. People are paying money, and you have to try to do your best. But there’s definitely an overreach where everybody is just so aggressive. 

Similar to the Graydon Carter piece, I did a long sit-down with Daniel Boulud that we haven’t published yet, and we talked about the idea of the critics and the customers, and how wouldn’t it be fun if we could rate our customers like Uber drivers rate theirs. If we could say, “This is a difficult customer. They’ve canceled 50 percent of the time that they make a reservation.”

It's the fantasy of having a customer who’s just so difficult, and they’re mistreating your staff on a high, high level. “Okay, you can do that. But I’m going to let everyone know that you’ve abused people and done X, Y, Z. And that way, when you go to all my friends’ restaurants, they’re going to know you’re that guy or that girl.” But of course you can’t do that. I’d be in big trouble. 

That brings up something I hear a lot from people working in the business —they’d like customers to think of hospitality as more of a shared experience between guest and service, rather than a one-way relationship that can feel oppressive or even abusive.

I love that idea. It’s just so hard to get consumers in that mindset. They’re the customer, I get it. It’s like if I'm going to a concert, I want to be entertained. I want to be taken care of if I’m paying, and the more money I’m paying, the more demanding I’m going to be. It’s just gotten a little out of control and a little unrealistic. Everybody thinks they’re a VIP. The number of human beings who believe themselves to be VIPs has to be 100x what they were ten years ago. No exaggeration. 

“The number of human beings who believe themselves to be VIPs has to be 100x what they were ten years ago.”

I can remember a real conversation in the early mid ‘90s, when I was in my 20s, when my friends were asking how to become a VIP at Nobu. I told them it’s very easy. I’m going to book you a table. You go, and when you leave, you book a second reservation for the following week. You stop, you talk to the maître d’—”Hey, my name is whatever, I’d love to come back next Wednesday. Hey, what's your name?” Get his name. You go back the following Wednesday. You make another reservation for two weeks out. You've now gone three times. You know the guy’s name. You’re now a VIP because you’re actually a customer. That’s the difference between being a real VIP and saying, “Oh, I'm a VIP because I go to Lure Fishbar once a year.” 

What do you think causes the rise in customers insisting on VIP treatment?

It’s social media. “I have a lot of friends. I got followers. Look at me: I’m so cool.” It's a certain level of entitlement without behavior that backs it up. If you eat in my venues on a regular basis, I never say no under any circumstances. It doesn’t matter if someone else unfortunately might get dinged. I hate that happening, but I just don’t believe in saying no to guests who truly frequent restaurants, because there aren’t that many of them. It’s so much harder to replace someone that eats with you 30 times a year. 

So when you don’t say no, you mean to unusual requests?

Like, “Hey, I need a table Friday night for four people,” and they give me 30 minutes notice. I’m like, “I got it.” I’ll make it work. If they’re in the restaurant and say, “Can I get scrambled eggs?” It's like, “Chef, make some scrambled eggs.” The late great Ray Liotta would come to Lure with his daughter and his girlfriend at the time. He would book at noon, and we'd make him the pancakes he wanted at dinner. Every time.

On other other side of the equation, how do you de-escalate when someone is maybe pushing the boundaries of entitlement?

One time there was a younger guy that started frequenting Lure, and he got a little bit out of control. My GM told me, “Such-and-such is coming in. He’s walked up to the podium, and he’s very demanding and started throwing your name around.” I called the guy up, saying, “Look, man, I love and appreciate you coming in, but you’ve got to be respectful of the fact that everybody has their things going on. And you're just not going to win the battle here if you don’t behave in a way where everybody actually likes you.” If you really want to be a great guest, the best thing is to behave in a way where everyone feels happy to see you, like, “Hey, Chris is here! Chris just walked in!” Otherwise they’ll be like, “Ugh, guys ... it’s that customer. Oh, man, Chris just came in.” 

That would be more enjoyable for everyone, guest and server alike. It would seem natural to cultivate the kinds of guests who actually like engaging with servers and others, rather than just being waited on by obedient drones. 

That’s the best part of working in a restaurant. Lure is almost 20 years old. I’ve got servers and runners that have been there ten years, maybe more. I’ve got customers that specifically want to be seated in those peoples’ sections because they enjoy the company of those servers. That’s the energy they share with each other. 

You’re still creating and opening new spots. When you come up with these concepts, are you imagining already how they also might become longstanding institutions? Or does each one come from a different place?

The reason I closed and renovated El Toro Blanco, and then changed Burger & Barrel to Bar Tulix, was just sheer boredom during lockdown. I was here. I didn’t leave. I just wanted a creative outlet and a project. 

What we had originally planned with El Toro Blanco was closing for a week and doing a light renovation. But then lockdown hit, and we didn’t know how long it was going to last. Serge Becker helped design and curate Hancock Street—he was here too. So we said, hey, let’s do something. We wanted to make that restaurant feel like it had been there already, to give it the physicality that comes with restaurants that feel like institutions. Serge is so good at the nuance of all these thousand little decisions. 

Everything in restaurants today is like, the same sconces from the same vendor, the same catalog. Just like Instagram created fast, fast fashion where everything gets knocked off, in a restaurant you can have good design, incredible light, and the next thing you know, it’s in some knockoff catalog. I can remember starting ten-plus years ago buying these restaurant chairs from Amsterdam, and now everybody has that chair. Everyone, everyone has it. 

“We almost have to make some decisions that are unusual, even borderline unattractive.”

We almost have to make some decisions that are unusual, even borderline unattractive. I found a chair for Hancock Street from this designer, Gilbert Marklund, that I’d never seen. It’s a little bit ugly. If you really stare at it, you’re like, “I don't know if I’d want that in my house.”  

Read on for more

Earlier this month, Hillary Sterling was recognized for her “lively, inviting style” from Pete Wells of The New York Times. The head chef of Ci Siamo in Manhattan West, which opened in the fall, is owned by Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Sterling had previously been at Vic’s on Great Jones Street, where she served destination-worthy Italian fare. Before that, Sterling cooked in New York restaurants such as A Voce, for example, as well as under Bobby Flay at Mesa Grill and Bolo.

Having a hand in building the vision for Ci Siamo — as well as the opportunity to team up with pastry luminary Claudia Fleming — may be a recipe for success: The deep pockets of Union Square Hospitality and cooking at the photogenic wood-fired hearth don’t hurt, either. We checked in with Sterling to find out more about her cooking right now as well as places she enjoys when she’s not at her restaurant.

OTH: What restaurant do you visit most besides your own?

HS: I never get tired of Via Carota or I Sodi — they're classic and consistent in the best way. Via Carota at lunch is really the move. A seat at the bar with their insalata verde and chicken liver toast has all the makings of a perfect afternoon. A quick negroni at Bar Pisellino doesn't hurt either. In my neighborhood, St. Anselm and its excellent lamb blade shoulder are perennial favorites.

OTH: What's your favorite produce stop or farmers market vendor?

HS: For bitter greens, it's always Campo Rosso. They have incredible radicchio, Tardivo, and Castelfranco, in addition to Datterini tomatoes and amazing peppers come summer.

OTH: Do you have a go-to butcher and or fish purveyor?

HS: Ends Meat is always my butcher of choice — excellent cuts of meat and some of the highest quality chicken and pork you can find. For seafood, it's always Greenpoint Fish & Lobster.

OTH: What's the food shopping experience that brings you joy?

HS: I get a lot of joy from the act of grocery shopping itself. Having time to make all the stops in that old school kind of way — going to one place for bread, stopping by the butcher, dropping into Fortunato's for some Italian cookies... That's how we shopped growing up, and I'm glad there are still highly specialized, family-owned spots out there.

OTH: Any other hidden gems?

HS: SOS Chefs is one of the most exciting places to shop — whenever I'm there, I discover something new. They're a treasure trove with every spice imaginable and quality pantry staples that elevate home cooking to an entirely different level.

OTH: What's a recent standout moment in your work life?

HS: Opening a new restaurant in 2021 was really a gift. To dream something up, build a team around it, and then get to see it become a reality is unbelievably special. 

OTH: What’s the mistake you’ve learned the most from?

HS: Not trusting my gut. When something's not right, it's not right — don't be afraid to lean into that.

OTH: What's your go-to way to relax?

HS: Long runs that end somewhere that I can shop for dinner, and then cook dinner at home.

OTH: What was the last thing you cooked?

HS: This past weekend, it was pork chops with Calabrian chiles and fennel pollen. Generally, I like to do a lot of Asian cooking at home. Turkey larb with sticky rice is a go-to.

We’re big fans of Katie Couric, the award-winning journalist, #1 New York Times bestselling author we’d love to be friends with. Founder of her very own Katie Couric Media, we’ve recently become avid readers of her free daily newsletter, Wake-Up Call (which you will love as much as we do).

In addition to everything you need to know in the morning  —“This Republican Could Play a Pivotal Role in the Supreme Court Showdown” and “The 10 U.S. Cities Where Rent Increased the Most in 2021” — you'll hear from her well-known friends, like Ina Garten, Stanley Tucci, and Bowen Yang. (Be sure to also subscribe to her podcast, "Next Question," on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorites.)

A longtime New York resident, Katie points to her favorite spots to drink and dine around Manhattan, cited in her recent memoir, Going There.

Three Guys 

“Three Guys (960 Madison Avenue, Manhattan) is a diner that became a staple for the girls and me when we moved into the Surrey Hotel for a year, waiting for our apartment to be renovated. As I write in the book, it has All-American hamburgers at Madison Avenue prices. I love going there for their soups, and it’s a fun place to meet friends for breakfast. I always run into Donny Deutsch there, eating by himself and reading on his phone.”

Rainbow Room

“The Rainbow Room (30 Rockefeller Center, Manhattan) is glamorous NYC at its finest. First of all, I love 30 Rock. From the mural that greets you when you walk in the door, to the ice skating rink, to the flags flapping in the wind. When you walk into the Rainbow Room, the soundtrack in your head should be, “You’re the Top” by Cole Porter. In fact, I can’t believe the Rainbow Room isn’t in the lyrics. I celebrated Tony Bennett’s birthday there, attended some pretty swanky NBC parties, and brought my high school friends for a special night on the town when they visited me. As for the food, I don’t even remember it, because the setting and the scenery (inside and out) are so magical.”

Cipriani

“I think the first time I went to Cipriani (781 5th Ave., Manhattan) was when I got a bellini at Harry’s Bar in Venice in 1989. Nothing comes close to that experience, but Cipriani is pretty bellissimo. I love ordering the Dover sole (although it’s enough for two). And the place is always bustling with big shots (Charlie Rose was a regular back in the day). The Cipriani downtown hosts a ton of charity events and the space is cavernous. There’s nothing quite like watching all the power-lunchers wheeling and dealing around the tables.” 

Cognac  

“Cognac (963 Lexington Ave., Manhattan) is such a cute restaurant, and I’m not sure why I don’t go there more often. It's cozy–with a clubby atmosphere and pretty leather booths–and not far from our apartment. I’ve only been once, twenty years after Jay died, to have a drink with his doctors. I ordered a cup of tea, but I’ve since googled the menu and it looks delicious.”

Raoul’s

“I think Raoul’s (180 Prince St., Manhattan) qualifies as a true New York institution. Founded by two brothers who had moved to the United States from France, it’s the perfect SoHo bistro with the best steak frites in town. Inside is always buzzing and bustling, outside is a cute outdoor patio, if you’re looking for a quieter and COVID-friendly option. As you’ll read, I went on a date with an–ahem–much younger man there.”

Barbuto 

“I adore Chef Jonathan Waxman and his restaurant,  Barbuto (113 Horatio St., Manhattan) is an NYC must-visit. John and I went here for our second date (and many times thereafter). I always order the roast chicken with these delicious potatoes that are fried in duck fat–and I’m sure are really good for you. We just ate there for John’s son Henry’s birthday. It recently moved locations and I’m so happy to report it is doing well in this weird pandemic world.” 

Polo Bar

“Polo Bar (1 E. 55th St., Manhattan) is so much fun, especially in the winter. It’s super cozy, horsey, Ralph Lauren-y. We always start with their melt-in-your-mouth mini Reuben sandwiches. They have fantastic steaks, great salads. It just has a buzzing atmosphere and lots of notable people go there–Michael Strahan and media types, well-known lawyers, and former presidents (see: page 420).” 

Elio’s

“You may have heard of Elio’s (1621 2nd Ave., Manhattan) — they recently allowed Sarah Palin to dine indoors without asking for her proof of vaccination (which she doesn’t have, as she isn’t vaccinated). But pre that scandal, it was simply known as an Upper East Side favorite. I used to see Angelica Houston, Tom Selleck, and the aforementioned Donny Deutsch there. Apparently, Tom Hanks and Joan Didion frequented Elio’s too. I love their pasta with sausage and broccoli rabe and their fried calamari (and I’m not normally a calamari gal). This is where I had an intense and, in hindsight, illuminating conversation with Matt Lauer.”

La Bonne Soup

“La Bonne Soupe (48 W. 55th St., Manhattan) was the backdrop of yet another very awkward meeting with Marissa Mayer, who was the CEO of Yahoo at the time. That was the only time I’ve been. Marissa suggested I order the Tomato Basil and I have to say, it was very good.”

Michael’s

“Last, but certainly not least, Michael’s: Every Wednesday, pre-COVID, Michael’s (24 W. 55th St., Manhattan) was crawling with media types of all types and stripes. (Why Wednesday? No clue.) It’s the place to see and be seen. In this corner, Steven Brill. In that corner, the late Ann Richards and Liz Smith kibitzing. In another corner, a network president, a table away Ken Auletta. There was always lots of table-hopping happening. I used to love the chicken breast stuffed with goat cheese (they took it off the menu) and the Niçoise salad. Michael himself always greets me like a long-lost relative. It’s really become a New York media institution.”

Once a chef at Massimo Bottura’s Osteria Francescana and Hosteria Giusti, both in Modena, Stefano Secchi at Rezdôra (27 East 20th Street, Manhattan), brings Michelin-starred experience and nice-guy vibes to the Flatiron District.

His restaurant is inspired by the food of Emilia-Romagna, “because we’re super passionate about pasta uovo,” (eggs) he says. Emilia-Romagna is the region known for Parmigiano Reggiano, prosciutto di Parma, and real-deal balsamic. It’s also where pasta is generally made with softer flour and eggs, unlike pasta in the southern provinces, where it’s more often made from durum and water.

Secchi, who grew up in the U.S., spent five months each year of his youth in Italy, his family’s homeland. Though he’d been going between countries for his whole life, as a young adult, he opted to stay in Italy to cook for three or four years. “It was probably the most influential time in my life,” he says.

Once he returned to cook in the U.S., he found he couldn’t take ingredients for granted — namely, the quality of eggs.

“I think what it comes down to is that we didn't really realize how difficult it was going to be,” he says.

For Rezdôra, he asked producers high and low where to get eggs with dark orange yolks, even going direct to producers to find out whether, “we can feed [chickens] a very carotene-rich diet,” he says. He cited Dan Barber’s experiment up at Blue Hill, where he fed chickens peppers so their eggs had dark red yolks as a result.

He was puzzled as to why it was so hard to find the eggs he was looking for because his experience had been so different. At his family’s farm in Sardinia, “any type of watermelon we have or any type of melons, any type of cucumbers, any type of tomato, any type of carrot trimmings: it all goes into a big bucket and then we feed our chickens that,” he says. “Then, our chickens' yolks are dark, dark orange. It's not some synthetic feed that you have here in the States because you're just trying to crank out eggs.”

Six months in, Rezdôra finally found a farm out that has Italian-style dark orange yolks. “We started using them, which has been life-changing,” he says. “They're expensive, but it changes everything. They’re so beautiful.”

Even if you can’t make it to his restaurant, Secchi encourages you to make your own fresh pasta at home. “There's a great food processor recipe where you're going to have two little eggs and 200 grams or 220 grams of flour: Put them together, buzz them up real quick, make a quick dough, knead it, cover it with plastic wrap, and you can start rolling out pasta in 20 minutes and then have a very simple sauce,” he says.

“The payoff is so huge. People taste that for the first time where there's a little bit of bite to it and then all of a sudden it just melts in your mouth,” Secchi says. “You're like, ‘Oh my God; this is incredible.’ That's why we based a whole restaurant around it.” (Finding those eggs for home cooking might, however, be a challenge.)

In addition to making pasta in the restaurant, Secchi is making pasta on Instagram with his son, Luca, who is nearly three years old. (I’ve dropped one from YouTube here because Substack doesn’t allow for Instagram embeds.)

“By the time we were on the latter end of [Lessons with Luca], he was legitimately grabbing the pulley with the pasta machine and rolling and trying to roll it himself,” says Secchi.

“Now he's obsessed, and…we have to get him small cooking sets because he uses all my pans and brings them out to the middle of the living room.”

Below, a few visuals of doppio tortelli-making at Rezdôra:

Our first in an occasional series on restaurants we miss, the author Peter Maguire writes on La Côte Basque. He is the director of Fainting Robin Foundation and the author of the 2021 New York Times bestseller, Breathe: A Life in Flow; Thai Stick: Surfers, Scammers, and the Untold History of the Marijuana Trade; Facing Death in Cambodia; and Law and War: American History and International Law. He has taught the law and theory of war at Columbia University, Bard College, and the University of North Carolina Wilmington.  You can find the longer version of this article, “Rōshi Chef: Jacques Rachou and the La Côte Basque Zendō” at Sour Milk on Substack.

Interested in writing about a restaurant you’ve been missing? Get in touch over email: info@brokenpalate.com.

By Peter Maguire

The first time I saw Jean-Jacques Rachou in his kitchen at La Côte Basque at 60 W. 55th St., dressed in immaculate chef’s whites and a toque blanche, he reminded me more of a martial arts master than a chef. Carefully observing an athletic young grillardin who was laboring over a hot range, he said nothing. When his apprentice plated his steak, Jean-Jacques studied the meat, spun the plate, and signaled his approval with a nod. Like my jujitsu teacher, the legendary Rickson Gracie, Jean-Jacques is a stern but fair master who leads by example.

Born an orphan in Toulouse, France, in 1935, Rachou was taken in by a local woman. As a child, he worked long hours at a nearby farm and delivered vegetables to restaurants and hotels. In 1946, a local restaurateur offered eleven-year-old Jean-Jacques a job in his kitchen and transformed the boy’s hardscrabble life forever. “It was deliverance,” Rachou said. “It was freedom.” 

For the next four years, Jean-Jacques worked as an apprentice at Le Grand Hôtel Régina and learned classical French cooking according to the rules of Auguste Escoffier’s hundred-year-old brigade de cuisine system. Escoffier divided a kitchen into ranked positions: executive chef; chef de cuisine; sous chefs; chefs de partie; commis chefs (junior chefs); and stations (grill, roast, pastry, butcher, fish).

Rachou left France in the 1950s to cook in the La Mamounia Hotel in Marrakesh, Morocco, then went to Lisbon to open the Hotel Ritz. Next, he went to Bermuda and finally arrived in New York in 1962 to work at Gene Cavallero’s legendary Colony restaurant on Madison Avenue. When he finally opened his first restaurant, Le Lavandou, on East 61st St. in 1975, he quickly developed a . following. “If a Jewish mother could be French, she would be Jean-Jacques Rachou,” wrote food critic Gael Greene. “He seems to have a fix on how to please a hungry New Yorker.”

In 1979, Rachou spent all his accumulated savings to buy Henri Soulé’s La Côte Basque. One of the first to introduce classic French dining to New York at the fabled Le Pavillion, Soulé moved closer to his Bayonne roots when he opened La Côte Basque in the late ‘50s. Truman Capote, one of New York cafe society’s favorite celebrities, satirized the restaurant and its patrons in Esquire Magazine in 1965.  He was never forgiven.

Rachou’s attention to detail was unmatched. He spent thousands each week on beautiful cut flowers, used only the finest linen, and his dining room staff was the best in New York City. “The ingredients that we used were the finest that your hands could touch,” recalled Neil Murphy of the Park Avenue Cafe, now in Hawaii at Merriman’s When Jean-Jacques reopened a completely renovated La Côte Basque, it was an instant success. “In typical Rachou style, La Côte Basque offers,” wrote The New York Times, “big portions or bigger portions. The restaurant's oversize plates are typically garnished with levees of wild rice, ramparts of carrot puree, towering timbales, and puff-pastry sculptures.”

What most people do not know is what a huge impact Jean-Jacques Rachou and his restaurant had on the future of American gastronomy. “No one has been more responsible in training the first generation of great American chefs and restaurateurs than Jack Rachou,” said Mike Colameco, host and producer of Mike Colameco’s Real Food on PBS. Rachou was one of the first French chefs willing to hire and train Americans.  

“Back in that day, the Frenchmen didn’t think we could work,” recalled chef Gregory Godon. “When Jack realized that we didn’t mind working, we opened the flood gate for the rest of the crew.” For Charlie Palmer, now head of his own small empire of restaurants, it was his big break after graduating from culinary school. “For us young American guys coming to New York working in basically the French mafia for lack of a better term,” said Palmer, “he stood up for American cooks in the beginning.” “You learn the correct way to work,” observed chef Stephan Kopf, formerly of Tavern on the Green, “How to work together, how to be organized, how to produce, just from A to Z.”    

“Jack” Rachou taught a group of young American chefs fresh out of culinary school how to work as an organized team, control costs, and run a world-class restaurant. They started making puff pastry, boning quail, crushing bones for stock, and cleaning the kitchen. Michael Handal had just graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY, when he started at the soufflé station. “We were making a minimum of 200 soufflés each night, fresh to order — easily 250 on the weekends — as well as tuiles, petits fours, marzipan, etc.”

After Handal was promoted to garde manger, where butchering was among the responsibilities, he would get “full, primal cuts of animals — not just vacuum-sealed veal loin, but a huge cut, covered in layers of fat and simply wrapped with cheesecloth.” 

When Jean-Jacques called out the orders to the kitchen in his heavily accented English, he sounded like an auctioneer. “He would order like a maniac, and you would have to get it out and organized yourself — it was a matter of survival,” said Rick Moonen. “We worked together on the line, it was total synchronization and he loved us! Just as it was getting out of control, and [we] couldn’t keep up any longer, Jean-Jacques would give you one of his little half-smiles, just a slight one, and wink.”   

“They get the classic cuisine and the principles, and they were very, very, very, very willing to learn,” said Rachou. “They were good to me. I was strong with them.” Sometimes, like my martial arts teacher, Rickson Gracie (who once nearly choked me unconscious for struggling while escaping his headlock) Rachou taught his charges the hard way if they failed to meet his expectations. “Busy lunch — 300, 350 covers. All of a sudden you hear this scream and here comes the Chef down the stairs with a tray,” remembered Charlie Palmer, “with four chickens lined up on the tray. ‘You assholes!’”

“And he throws them!” added Neil Murphy. “I learned a new dish, it was called ‘duck.’” Just as I never struggled to get out of another headlock again, Murphy never served another undercooked chicken. “After that, you learn. You make sure you … check! You got to touch, you got to look, you got to smell, you got to really work with the food,” continued Murphy. “I never served a medium-rare chicken after that. I never embarrassed him like that either. That’s how you learn.”

Today the La Côte Basque alumni include Daniel Boulud, Waldy Malouf, Todd English, Charlie Palmer, Stephan Kopf, Rick Moonen, Charles Tutino, Ali Barker, Neil Murphy, and many others. “The morning shift you had Rick Moonan, Charles Palmer. At night it was Henry Mir, Todd English, myself,” recalled Bruce Egdahl, now executive chef at Round Hill Country Club in Greenwich, CT. “It was a pretty good crew. We were a busy restaurant and Monsieur Rachou is the papa.” 

Despite the amazing food and impeccable service, by the late 1990s, La Côte Basque was at a crossroads, and Rachou knew it. Not only were many of his longtime patrons dying, so was the formal French dining experience. “I think you'll see less and less of grand dining on this level. Before, parents used to take children to good restaurants so they could learn,” Rachou told The New York Times, “Where do they take them today? People don't want to dress up today.” Although he was trying to attract younger patrons, their moderation baffled him. “They split appetizers?” he said to me with a Gallic shrug.

I first went to La Côte Basque in the late 1990s with Didier Rachou, Jean-Jacques’s music-composer son, his wife Lucy, and my fiancee Annabelle Lee. The restaurant was packed with a well-dressed, older crowd, and they took notice when Didier was treated like Henry Hill at the Copacabana in Goodfellas. There were no empty tables, but as we approached the dining room, a squad of servers emerged from the back with a table, chairs, linen, and silverware and set the table with the speed and precision of a Marine Color Guard.

Over the next three hours, I enjoyed the best meal I had ever eaten in New York City. Unlike many restaurants in the 1990s, the food, not the scene, was the main attraction. The maître d'hôtel, captain, and servers were unobtrusive and the service was seamless. Not one of these middle-aged European men aspired to be actors, and it showed as they effortlessly boned fish, carved roast chickens, decanted wine, and anticipated their guests’ every whim. Toward the end of our dinner, Jean-Jacques emerged from the kitchen. With his trademark pencil mustache, custom-tailored blazer, and shirt, he cut a very dashing figure. After he kissed the women’s hands, he shook mine. He could tell that my compliments about his food were sincere and encouraged me to bring my business associates to his restaurant. Very selectively, I did.

While I would like to think it was my bad present-tense French and scintillating wit that forged my friendship with Jean-Jacques Rachou, it was really my enormous appetite. The only people I invited to join me at La Côte Basque were those without food fetishes who were prepared to eat and drink their fill.

I was coming to the end of a long run as a bachelor. For decades, my energy went into my scholarship, martial arts training, and aquatics (swimming and surfing). Most of the time, I ate and drank very moderately. However, if I were going to break training, I would put on a jacket and tie and head to La Côte Basque. I and my guest usually started at the bar. I always ordered a vodka tonic. Like any good bar, the glass had only ice, a lime slice, and a generous pour of vodka in it. A small bottle of tonic water accompanied the glass so I could mix my drink according to taste. Once our table was ready, the tuxedoed maître d’ would lead us into the dining room and seat us. A server would follow us with our drinks if we had not finished them.

Next, we would order. Just before the meal arrived, a cold bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé or some other excellent white wine would arrive at the table. “This is from Chef,” our server would say with a smile. My first course was salmon, smoked on the premises, with perfect toast points, minced red onions, capers, and lemon. If they offered oysters, I had a dozen because I knew that they were the best in the city. Resting on a bed of crushed ice, the muscle was always cut neatly from the shell. Never once was I served one with a hacked mantle, heart, or stomach. The mignonette sauce was little more than red wine vinegar, ground black pepper, and chopped shallots, and it was always perfect.

After we finished our starters and the plates were cleared, our server would walk over to our table with an excellent Latour — also a gift from the kitchen.  If it was on the menu, my main course was always venison grand veneur. The roasted lean meat was served medium-rare with a rich, dark sauce made from pheasant stock, red wine, and cream. If there was no venison, then it was Dover sole, sautéed simply and deboned tableside. Dessert was always a chocolate soufflé, ordered in advance, and served hot. When the server brought it to the table, he dented the top and put a dollop of homemade whipped cream in the crease. Although the next day usually began in the sauna at Columbia University with a stack of newspapers trying to sweat out the night’s excesses, it was always worth it.

Over long, luxurious dinners in the banquette against the wall beneath Bernard Lamotte’s mural of Saint-Jean-de-Luz, I discussed terrorism cases with criminal defense attorney Andy Patel, lambasted the human rights industry with writer David Rieff, compared notes on the Khmer Rouge with war crimes investigator Craig Etcheson, talked about whatever book I was writing with my editor Peter Dimock, and lamented the death of newspapers with my Newsday editor Spencer Rumsey.

The most memorable meal I had there was with my father, the late Rob Maguire. During the late 1940s, my dad lived in Israel while his father, the chief pilot for Operation Ali Baba and Operation Magic Carpet, flew refugees into Israel. After my grandfather remarried in 1948, he shipped my dad off to a boarding school in Paris. My dad rarely attended. Instead, Rob studied in the jazz clubs of St. Germain, Pigalle’s maisons closes, and even sampled the good life in Nice with a classmate who was a French nobleman. As my father and I were finishing our chocolate soufflés, Jean-Jacques came out from the kitchen and poured each of us a glass of rare Calvados. As the two men talked, they were transported back to the postwar France of their youth.

Shortly thereafter, it all suddenly ended. I got married, moved away, and started a family. Sadly, La Côte Basque closed for good in 2004, and, several years later, Jean-Jacques retired. Thank you, Jean-Jacques, for so generously introducing me, my friends, and my family to Escoffier’s “tasteful simplicity.”  I will always remember this long, lost time, before Wi-Fi and selfies invaded the dining room and there was a consensus — from Marie-Antoine Carême to Rachou that Escoffier put best when he said, “every meal was a ceremony and a celebration.”