D James Gilmour

Review of '21' Club

To critique 21 as merely a restaurant is to ask ...

To critique 21 as merely a restaurant is to ask it to get down on all-fours with the likes of pricey chain and repurposed bank lobby eateries. Rather, it is distinguished by its clientele and its treatment of them. While Billingsley s Stork [Club] is a now a park and Elmo [El Morocco] is now a memory, 21 enjoys a flourishing and Darwinian survival. Attentive Captains and Waiters [especially Valter] anticipate every need; the leitmotif is one of welcome, relaxation, and belongingness.

Certainly, lunch and dinner are without compare. There are trendy menu choices, but the Bar Room 21 burger and chicken hash are stalwart friends of long standing. The events Christmas and Derby Day among others remain distinctive, and dressing for them justifies some depth of wardrobe.

The Bar Room ceiling toys are hardly decorations; they are gifts of accomplished individuals who competed with each other for acceptance and placement. So are the cast-iron jockeys, presented to the club by stable owners whose thoroughbreds are legendary. Everything is original, has a provenance, delights the eye, and celebrates accomplishment.

Yet 21 is by no means a museum. Bogart-and-Bacall s table [30] is just a few steps away from The Donald s table [once 9, now 11]. The understated dress code is rather Ivy, with labels on the inside. The guests at the next table will not be AVPs from NotGoldmanSachs or MBAs from the University of SomeRectangularState; the guests are as real as the club.