West Village, Manhattan · restaurant
A 300-seat brasserie without a bad seat in the house. Red leather, glowing wood, and a butcher counter up front telegraphing exactly what you came for. Steak frites and a properly molten French onion soup do the heavy lifting, but the deep absinthe list nudges dinner into a longer, looser night. Slip upstairs when the floor gets loud, the gallery’s quieter, a little more conspiratorial, and made for stretching things out.
Grass-fed NY strip, herb butter, pommes frites
Snails with shallots, lemon, parsley, garlic butter
Beef tenderloin, capers, quail egg, crostini