A refresher on native dining etiquette:
Salad fork goes on the outside. Napkin should be folded lengthwise on your lap.
And if you must get up to start a conga line in the middle of a meal, remember to excuse yourself from the table first.
Welcome to Botero Supper Club, a new dinner party intent on bridging the gap between light dinner and Vegas-style nightclubbery, now open at Encore.
The scene here: still that of an art gallery jamboree packed inside a steakhouse—walls lined with Colombian figurative artist Fernando Botero’s melting tiger tamers, upside-down liquor display cases hanging from the ceiling. The only noticeable change: a pair of new, late-night menus and a makeshift DJ booth posted up by the kitchen.
Be seated with that Cirque du Soleil elephant whisperer you’ve been entertaining under the giant statue of a naked woman at the center of the room. Immediately, you’ll be hit with live DJ beats (see: Steve Aoki spinning by the kitchen), and slapped with menus of nightclubby cocktails and high-protein nibble fare (it’s a well-known fact that halibut-ginger crudo goes better on the dance floor than, say, a porterhouse for two).
The result: loose limbs for XS, the Persian-emperor-inspired sweat circus next door.
Something about ordering raw fish at a steakhouse just puts you in a risk-taking mood.
Salad fork goes on the outside. Napkin should be folded lengthwise on your lap.
And if you must get up to start a conga line in the middle of a meal, remember to excuse yourself from the table first.
Welcome to Botero Supper Club, a new dinner party intent on bridging the gap between light dinner and Vegas-style nightclubbery, now open at Encore.
The scene here: still that of an art gallery jamboree packed inside a steakhouse—walls lined with Colombian figurative artist Fernando Botero’s melting tiger tamers, upside-down liquor display cases hanging from the ceiling. The only noticeable change: a pair of new, late-night menus and a makeshift DJ booth posted up by the kitchen.
Be seated with that Cirque du Soleil elephant whisperer you’ve been entertaining under the giant statue of a naked woman at the center of the room. Immediately, you’ll be hit with live DJ beats (see: Steve Aoki spinning by the kitchen), and slapped with menus of nightclubby cocktails and high-protein nibble fare (it’s a well-known fact that halibut-ginger crudo goes better on the dance floor than, say, a porterhouse for two).
The result: loose limbs for XS, the Persian-emperor-inspired sweat circus next door.
Something about ordering raw fish at a steakhouse just puts you in a risk-taking mood.
