Everything’s been upgraded: the dining room, the menu, the spirits behind your martinis and Old Fashioneds and, naturally, the purveyors supplying ribeye and lamb chops to the kitchen’s shiny new Jean-Georges vet.
Thankfully, they’ve left the bar alone, so it still has that soul-stirring, real-LA vibe that you really only see these days when re-watching Jackie Brown. That’s where you’ll do Manhattans and drafts with friends after work, sharing stools and stories with charismatic and/or famous and/or inebriated neighborhood regulars.
But now you can totally bring a date here for dinner without a sideways glance. The dining room comes strapped in requisite chophouse black leather booths with laudable bull-based artwork overhead.
And speaking of great vino, they have a wine society of sorts. People stash gems from their private collections here, which become available on a special menu for those in the know, allowing access to often-unobtainable wines.
You’ve always appreciated the taste of unobtainability.