Ah, the Watergate: the home of all that would rather not be discovered. Executive-appointed burglars.
Presidential paramours. That random Safeway in the basement.
And now: your dinner plans.
Introducing Rivers at the Watergate, a new steak and martini outpost opening on Friday for your next clandestine dinner.
This is a slice of old Washington, where pianos once tinkled in bars, rack of lamb was on every menu and Republicans broke bread with Democrats (and the occasional Soviet... allegedly).
You’ll come here to meet with your State Department source (she’ll inevitably be in a black trench coat and some impossibly high boots) and take up a position for some after-work martinis at the 40-foot bar, ringed with floor-to-ceiling picture windows.
But then, as the pre-Kennedy Center crowd trickles in (they can be so nosy), you’ll want to repair to one of the dark, quiet booths behind the bar. The manager and chef both come from the Prime Rib, so steak is a nice place to start, be it the roast Delmonico or the 16-ounce New York strip. (That said, there are some jumbo lump crab cakes, in case your source has been missing crab cakes since her stint in Upper Mongolia.)
Of course, should you run across the street to catch the curtain, you can return after 10pm for late-night happy hour and some more piano.
Feel free to request “Nobody Does It Better.”
And now: your dinner plans.
Introducing Rivers at the Watergate, a new steak and martini outpost opening on Friday for your next clandestine dinner.
This is a slice of old Washington, where pianos once tinkled in bars, rack of lamb was on every menu and Republicans broke bread with Democrats (and the occasional Soviet... allegedly).
You’ll come here to meet with your State Department source (she’ll inevitably be in a black trench coat and some impossibly high boots) and take up a position for some after-work martinis at the 40-foot bar, ringed with floor-to-ceiling picture windows.
But then, as the pre-Kennedy Center crowd trickles in (they can be so nosy), you’ll want to repair to one of the dark, quiet booths behind the bar. The manager and chef both come from the Prime Rib, so steak is a nice place to start, be it the roast Delmonico or the 16-ounce New York strip. (That said, there are some jumbo lump crab cakes, in case your source has been missing crab cakes since her stint in Upper Mongolia.)
Of course, should you run across the street to catch the curtain, you can return after 10pm for late-night happy hour and some more piano.
Feel free to request “Nobody Does It Better.”
