These things are a given:
a) There is no shortage of steakhouses in DC.
b) Precious few of them would ever qualify as a date spot.
c) Exactly none of them make you wistful for the days of Queen Victoria and the British Empire.
You guessed it: there is one now.
Presenting Lost Society, taking reservations now for its opening next Friday to serve all of your personal-empire-building (or at least relationship-building) needs.
This is the kind of place where Prince Albert and Gladstone might have gone to discuss India over a spot of tea and a game of backgammon. You and your date will ascend to the second floor (bonus points for wearing a waistcoat and a pocket watch) and enter a room that’s all chandeliers, brick and blue velvet.
Here, your possibilities are nearly endless—take up an ostrich hide stool at the three-sided bar, grab one of the low purple couches or, if discretion is paramount, slide into a leather booth overlooking U Street and enclosed by a curtain. There, you’ll tuck into seven cuts of steak like bone-in rib eye and horseradish-crusted prime rib, alongside Confit of Cornish Game Hen.
But you’re not done. A nightcap awaits on the third floor, where you’ll hear a DJ spin in the white and gray bar and you’ll order a Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA at the outdoor roof deck bar.
Just like the Brits used to do.
a) There is no shortage of steakhouses in DC.
b) Precious few of them would ever qualify as a date spot.
c) Exactly none of them make you wistful for the days of Queen Victoria and the British Empire.
You guessed it: there is one now.
Presenting Lost Society, taking reservations now for its opening next Friday to serve all of your personal-empire-building (or at least relationship-building) needs.
This is the kind of place where Prince Albert and Gladstone might have gone to discuss India over a spot of tea and a game of backgammon. You and your date will ascend to the second floor (bonus points for wearing a waistcoat and a pocket watch) and enter a room that’s all chandeliers, brick and blue velvet.
Here, your possibilities are nearly endless—take up an ostrich hide stool at the three-sided bar, grab one of the low purple couches or, if discretion is paramount, slide into a leather booth overlooking U Street and enclosed by a curtain. There, you’ll tuck into seven cuts of steak like bone-in rib eye and horseradish-crusted prime rib, alongside Confit of Cornish Game Hen.
But you’re not done. A nightcap awaits on the third floor, where you’ll hear a DJ spin in the white and gray bar and you’ll order a Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA at the outdoor roof deck bar.
Just like the Brits used to do.
