Consider this a friendly warning: there are exactly 31 days until the "holiday" known as Valentine's Day, and reservation lines are open now. That means it's time for you to take some swift and decisive action—by picking up the phone. As we've always (okay, maybe once) said, it's not the restaurant that matters, it's the table...
After President Obama took the First Lady here for dinner, she issued a statement that was just a recording
of herself saying, "Mmmmm." Away from the prying eyes of admirers and lobbyists, you'll find this table's
the perfect place to learn your date's stance on the issues—though you can assume she's in the
"pro-chocolate bread pudding" camp.
Why it's right: You're in favor of any situation that increases the likelihood of your date
calling you "Mr. President."
If your plan to charter a 787 to a heart-shaped Caribbean island covered in rose petals fell through, you
can still go over the top in the private room of this dimly lit, Clue mansion-style parlor: by
sitting across from her at the medieval-looking 10-seater, where you can enjoy the kind of lavish, extended
dining table you usually see in mansions. (This place has better service, though.)
Why it's right: Because nothing says overindulgent romance like putting a mile of champagne
between you and your date.
Your night begins where all great romances do: a Japanese butcher shop, which you have to pass to get to
this back-corner table. You'll sit next to the Bohemian's tiny garden, where you and your date will get a
side of Zen (and Washu-Gyu Mini Burgers).
Why it's right: If you've seen enough Japanese movies, you know the appearance of a
Washu-Gyu burger always precedes the steamy stuff.
Sometimes you just want to crawl into a tent with your date and draw the curtain. Just remember to raise the
curtain when your server comes bearing gifts of couscous, grape leaves and wine.
Why it's right: If things go wrong, there's always the belly dancers. And if things go
really right, there's the belly dancers.
After you and your date pass through the apartment-like setting of Russian books, portraits and dolls,
you'll settle in at this back-corner table, which boasts the place's prime seat: a throne-like recliner. Go
ahead, let your date sit there—but make her promise to give you a turn.
Why it's right: Finally, you can relive the famous beef stroganoff and vodka love scene
from War and Peace.
The problem with your apartment is that it's not a French restaurant. But you can get the same privacy and
much better confit de canard here—where you'll also have the only table in the otherwise empty gallery
room.
Why it's right: It's private, but be warned of a polite intruder, intent on serving you
foie gras and Bordeaux. He is the waiter, and he is your friend.
By drawing the flannel curtains around this private booth, you'll seal yourself and your amorous colleague
in a dark nook of romantic possibility—and when the mood strikes for a Manhattan or the occasional
pig's foot, just push a button to summon your server. They don't take reservations, but fortunately, you
possess the one form of currency a hostess will humor: beef shin. Unfortunately, they already have
that.
Why it's right: Your date is so much more than a piece of meat. Same goes for the
char-grilled lamb burger.
