Your mom’s a wonderful woman.
But lately, her home-cooked meals have been lacking in the dry-aged steak/celebrity clientele department.
So we’ve found a solution.
It’s someone else’s house. A town house. And you have a standing invitation to dinner.
Welcome inside Crown, a restaurant-residence from John DeLucie (the Waverly Inn/the Lion) with comfort-food suppers and the occasional dining Beatle, opening Friday and taking reservations now.
Functioning as both clubhouse to the rich and famished and exclamation point to your Metropolitan Museum art date, the restaurant occupies the bottom two levels of a pre-prewar Madison Avenue apartment building. One that’s seen its lobby transformed from a quaint sitting area into a 1920s-train-car-inspired dining room.
Gone is the doorman. In his place: a welcoming hostess who’ll set you up with gimlets from the zinc-topped bar and show you to a fireside, taupe-colored banquette for two. A cozy piece of real estate that, despite its floor-to-ceiling garden-view windows, is still only the second-best seat in the house.
The most sought-after spot, well, is actually hidden behind a fake bookcase in the basement. Pull on the right hardcover, and the entire shelf will swing away to reveal a secret panic room complete with a private bar, a couch and a VIP table. Recent dinner occupants have included one Sir Paul McCartney.
And zero Ringo Starrs.
But lately, her home-cooked meals have been lacking in the dry-aged steak/celebrity clientele department.
So we’ve found a solution.
It’s someone else’s house. A town house. And you have a standing invitation to dinner.
Welcome inside Crown, a restaurant-residence from John DeLucie (the Waverly Inn/the Lion) with comfort-food suppers and the occasional dining Beatle, opening Friday and taking reservations now.
Functioning as both clubhouse to the rich and famished and exclamation point to your Metropolitan Museum art date, the restaurant occupies the bottom two levels of a pre-prewar Madison Avenue apartment building. One that’s seen its lobby transformed from a quaint sitting area into a 1920s-train-car-inspired dining room.
Gone is the doorman. In his place: a welcoming hostess who’ll set you up with gimlets from the zinc-topped bar and show you to a fireside, taupe-colored banquette for two. A cozy piece of real estate that, despite its floor-to-ceiling garden-view windows, is still only the second-best seat in the house.
The most sought-after spot, well, is actually hidden behind a fake bookcase in the basement. Pull on the right hardcover, and the entire shelf will swing away to reveal a secret panic room complete with a private bar, a couch and a VIP table. Recent dinner occupants have included one Sir Paul McCartney.
And zero Ringo Starrs.
