Whatever you’ve got going at noon tomorrow, cancel it.
That’s when the reservation line opens. Practice saying “Monday, eight o’clock, for two” now.
You’ll enter through a bakery. Straight ahead, a rotisserie. Your main dining area is a sea of hazelnut wraparound banquettes, tiled columns and floor-to-towering-ceiling windows. It looks even better with two-person bouillabaisse and Moroccan lamb chops on the table. The bar’s an amber-lit paradise just past the bakery. If you’re having visions of Balthazar... yeah.
No, really, it’s huge.
Downstairs, there’s a rustic brick wine cellar with its own bar. Group dinners, bottles of Bordeaux—that’s the scene here.
You could just go to the bakery and be fine.
Chocolate sausages exist here. But it’s mostly where you’ll come to gaze upon NoHo with a macaron and some Stumptown coffee.
The bar’s hiding a secret.
That amber clock behind the bar: it’s a window. But you won’t know that until you’re in the farmhouse-style private room behind the bar, looking through it.
No big deal.