New York: Where to Eat: Power Scene: Michael’s

Michael’s

Michael’s is really three restaurants. Early mornings, business folk do grownup deals over enlightened breakfast fare (your muesli or McCann’s oatmeal, your egg white omelette or vegetable frittatas) as the sunlight streams in, illuminating David Hockney paintings. At lunch, Michael’s becomes such a scene—media moguls chomping their way through Cobb salads chopped to their specifications—that some people work the dining room so hard they seem never to sit down. Frequently, Michael McCarty, the owner himself, commutes from that other Michael’s in Santa Monica, to roam the rooms, chin high and happy, hair stylishly long, hugging and welcoming his guests, blinking at his good fortune that some fifteen years after he opened here, this place would be so, well, Michael’s. Steve Millington, the general manager, his eyes twinkling at some inside joke, or many, knows how to make his guests feel that this is their own private club.

Michael’s is so much fun, sometimes it’s easy to forget there’s really good food and wine to be had here. That’s what becomes clear at dinner, when the restaurant takes on its third identity, becoming a thoroughly tranquil place for good conversation and a well-prepared contemporary menu. Gravlax and patés and plenty of good fish like roasted striped bass with clams and sausage; confit of Long Island duck with red cabbage and blini, and much well-aged steak.