“And then we sauntered over the purple carpet to the gold leather throne chair and summoned the man with the rolling martini vehicle.”
Oh, sorry, we were just telling someone about Charlie Palmer at the Knick, a huge, segmented, all-day power-dining situation at a pretty legendary Midtown hotel. She’s open now.
Let’s go through what you really need to know here:
There’s a martini cart.
Shouldn’t there always be? This is the building where that particular beverage was conceived (allegedly, but let’s believe, shall we?). The house one nowadays has lemon and orange bitters. Delicious sacrilege.
Your booths are separated by chain mail.
Which is different.
They’re here. They’re confited nuggets of duck. Get used to it. And there’re Scotch quail eggs. Birds don’t fare well here.
It overlooks Times Square.
Which means you’re not actually in Times Square. So, great.
There’s a café downstairs called Jake’s.
It looks like a giant wind tunnel and has a leather wall and a massive marble counter with donuts from Dough and flatbreads from Sullivan Street Bakery.
Never change, Midtown.
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