These Steaks Are Not for Beginners
Review: Monkey Bar's gorgonzola prime rib and French dip. Plus, thoughts on cheese-aged steaks at Carne Mare and Crane Club, and an essay on art
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This week’s column is long, with essays on the social scene at Monkey Bar, the rise of cheese-aged beef, and the postwar art of Francis Bacon. There are also reviews of some awesome steaks and a delicious French dip.
Think of this issue as a ‘zine of sorts; just scroll down to the section you like!
Ryan
Monkey Bar is a party, again
You’d need an app to track the ups and downs of Monkey Bar over the decades, going through cycles of hip and has-been. Or scene-y and not scene-y. I suppose that’d be true of any restaurant that first opened in 1936, not too long before Chamberlain tried to appease Hitler with a slice of Czechoslovakia, and nearly a century before Team Trump suggested to Putin that chunks of Ukraine might be up for grabs.
History repeats itself.
Back in 2007, I remember Alan Richman calling Monkey Bar “an after-work singles spot, roaringly convivial on two of my visits but lacking any sense of importance.”
And the restaurant itself was “worse than ever,” he wrote.
Later, I remember Graydon Carter taking over the room and giving it a Vanity Fair spit shine. He commissioned Ed Sorel to paint a giant mural, and the cartoonist did just that, drawing sixty Jazz Age caricatures around the terraced dining room. Comic depictions of Langston Hughes, Dorothy Parker, and Duke Ellington looked down upon the A-List crowd. Beautiful.
I also remember some nice lady walking over to our table and asking what I was eating.
“Oysters Rockefeller,” I replied.
My editor and dining companion — the great Jeremy Gerard — informed me that the nice lady was Norah Ephron. She was dining with Nicholas Pileggi, whose name I didn’t recognize at the time. I’m lucky I wasn’t fired on the spot.
The food was fine. At least we had a better table than Charlie Rose.
Monkey Bar was as cool as a club. For a while.
Larry Forgione ran the kitchen, but a few years later Damon Wise ended up rejiggering the menu to give it more cred with the modern culinary crowd. That meant fried oysters, kimchi, and hamachi collars. He left at some point, and while the crowds thinned, the bar was still dark and sexy. And that was the thing. In the years before COVID, you could walk in, grab an empty booth, order an expensive mezcal manhattan, and flirt with your date amid all the simian drawings.
Monkey Bar is the last time I saw or heard from Guy Pascal, the old La Cote Basque pastry chef. My parents and I had drinks with him there in the 2010s. Perhaps I’ll write more about Pascal one day.
I liked high-class Monkey Bar. But I preferred low-key Monkey Bar.
Alas, things would change yet again.
The folks behind 4 Charles took over a few years back. Trust me when I say you won’t be walking in and grabbing a random booth anymore. Tables book up three weeks out and bar seats can command hour-plus waits.
And the kitchen dispenses one of the city’s favorite expense account items: steak.
People come dressed in leather, pleather, furs, furry hats, and bro clothes. I watched a guy in a hardware supply store shirt getting digits from someone with a jawline that looked chiseled by Michelangelo himself. I listened to three women in finance comparing their ample salaries and bonuses; the 26-year-old making the least got quiet for a while. And then, a drunk real estate dude came over (with his boss) to hit on them.
That’s our city, baby.
Check out the guy on a date next to me; he just ordered the “Monkey Bar” martini. It costs $34. So be it. Sorel’s mural is still there. The bartenders are stoked that you’re there. And the kitchen will serve you a really good prime rib. It’s a gorgonzola-aged roast, which is not the type of thing that usually seasons this polite cut.
Indeed, this is where things get even more interesting.
But really, Monkey Bar is always interesting. No matter who’s in charge. No matter who’s coming. I like it here. I always have.
See you at the bar.
Behind the Paywall: The Steak Issue
A review of Monkey Bar’s gorgonzola prime rib
Thoughts on why cheese-aging is so delicious
A separate review of Monkey Bar’s French dip
A big price hike at Daniel Boulud’s La Tete D’Or
How steakhouses can be better, and a few words on Francis Bacon