It opened in 1920 as a speakeasy, and closed after an explosion in 1978. Now The Commodore is back, providing a superlative setting to get your F. Scott and Zelda on. The elegantly refurbished Art Deco rooms would make its heyday’s habitués, from the Fitzgeralds (who lived blocks away) and Sinclair Lewis to Ma Barker and John Dillinger, feel right at home. So would the bubbles-heavy wine list and extensive cocktail menu (even if the rim of smoked Bourbon sugar on the Sidecar screams 21st century). The food also straddles traditional and cutting-edge: Lobster deviled eggs are a hot item in the swank bar, while sole, schnitzel and steaks get de preparations in the Jazz Age dining rooms. Almost as ubiquitous: flapper dresses and dapper bow ties; still, the none-too-daunting prices allow the hoi polloi to mingle comfortably with the hoity-toity.
This review appears in the print edition of the August
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