Pre-theatre drinkies of a Dirty Orange Martini and Perrier-Jouet Champagne (by the glass!) with a pre-theatre snack of fennel sausage and goat cheese salad. There was a bewildering array of wait staff mysteriously coded in variations of black ties, black shirts, white vests and white shirts that placed them in hospitality hierarchy (water server, bus boy, bread-basket-bearers, bartender, maître-d’ and regular waiters- not presented in rank). We were eventually served by the thoroughly efficient bartender who bemoaned the sudden influx of diners all in a hurry and all demanding instant service.
It’s the theatre district! What other kind of diner eats here?
We dropped in at 6.30 without a booking and made it to our 7 o’clock show across the road. It was a charming and iconic space and the toilets were fully equipped with a dispenser of minty mouthwash and little paper cups so that after chewing on your garlic bread you could whisper closely into your companion’s ear during a dreary Broadway performance “Let’s get the hell out of here.” without the fear of he/she cringing away from your bad breath.
Now that is a considered approach to service.
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