A place where celebrities went to escape the hassle of... lesser celebrities. Where you once watched Kate Moss karate-chop Owen Wilson in the neck. Now it’s back as just No. 8, grand-opening tonight. And like Pink Elephant before it, it’s trying to convince you that it’s a kinder, gentler version of its old self—a “gastropub.” So here’s what we’re going to do:
It doesn’t have: Bungalow.
It does have: 8. Because just calling it “Definitely Not Bungalow 8 Anymore” would have been crass.
It doesn’t have: The will to acknowledge that palm trees, mirrored cocktail bars and mysterious upstairs DJ booths make for a pretty strange gastropub.
It does have: All of those things.
It doesn’t have: Bottle service.
It does have: Tableside champagne service. For perpetual celebrating.
It doesn’t have: Its original mastermind, Amy Sacco... officially.
It does have: Amy Sacco in spirit and soul and on a plausibly deniable, extralegal basis.
It doesn’t have: Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton falling all over themselves.
It does have: Zoe Saldana looking... like she does, and Anne Hathaway going through a skin-tight-leather phase.
It doesn’t have: Helicopter-escape concierge service.
It does have: Flatbread pizzas, Cuban sandwiches and the lingering feeling that helicopter-escape concierge service is going to start back up any day now.