801 Chophouse
Thursday, November 20th, 2008
The guests all enjoyed looking at one another. At a major restaurant opening where the crowd doesn’t belong to a particular movement or following, judgments based on appearance are precisely the point.
Last night was my second restaurant opening – also the second for me in the Power & Light District. Both came in the autumn and were tied to Urban Times in some way. The first was last October at Vinino for the magazine’s launch party. The second was yesterday – drinks and dessert at 801 Chophouse in the Power & Light District courtesy of free passes handed down by Publisher Christina Boveri.
The bartender, who was a transplant from the 801 Chophouse actually opened on Halloween. Well-dress people were collected shoulder to shoulder in the bar area to capitalize on the free drinks. The crowd was overwhelmingly men, mostly in sport coats and open collared shirts, who appeared as though they’d stopped in on the way home – a place as extravagant or more so than their present surroundings.
There were a few ladies who stood rooted in strategic places, even spaced, no single beauty standing to close to another. They were tall and rigid, in pace and somewhat indistinguishable from the wooden support poles though out the bar. No one made any sudden movements. One gentleman who had the loudest laugh was the only person brave enough to stand out in any significant way, and he, of course, was the most handsome man in the room.
Servers in green jackets were trying to make their way from the kitchen with shrimp over-shoulder trays of shrimp hors d’oeuvres, but were essentially mobbed before they could enter the main dining areas.
I was in the company of the night’s most beautiful lady. We sat at the bar and drank martinis and beer while studying the unfamiliar faces, a practice that is particularly odd when you realize everyone in the room is conducting the exact same studies and is just as curious about you.
My judgments were middling. Evidently, I am a bad player at this game and utterly useless on such occasions. I thought everyone looked nice and was pleasant, for the most part. I also assumed they were all wealthy executives belonging to offices in the nearby corporate towers or maybe avant-garde artists who’d earned an invitation for selling work to these people. Beyond that, I wasn’t particularly given to reading into the characters around me. I was more taken with the building.
The restaurant feel was upscale and felt more suited for special occasions and large gatherings than couples. High ceilings and space created an open, inviting look, but it certainly wasn’t intimate enough for a date. An anatomically correct brass bull overlooking the tables and booths also put me off. I’ve never been a fan of decorations that alert me to the reality of what’s on my plate while it’s still there.
Along the restaurant’s east side, there were windows looking out onto the street. Long tables were set up in little nooks. Wine racks placed throughout as pseudo-walls separating the dining rooms and something in the “backroom” created a strange displacement in which I felt as though I were in a New York eatery, not a steak house in the Midwest. My guess is that is precisely the point.
Despite the nice to-do for 801 Chophouse, the biggest impression made on me was by the P&L District itself. After making a few visits and drive bys, I finally put my finger on it. Something about the scene feels inauthentic and, though it might sound surprising, slightly behind the times. Forced, maybe? I’d obviously choose the least inoffensive word since I respect the effort in redevelopment.
Yet, arranging the attractions along city streets without creating significant a communal area or walkway that feels as though you’d stepped out of the city and into something brings to it a studio feel. In the River Market or Westport, there is a community feel, some character in the older buildings, and an obviousness that the business have come up naturally and depend on one another. In the P&L District, there are tenants and profit. I suppose money can’t make an area genuine overnight, no matter how beautiful the architecture or its patrons might be.
