Your Bastille Day was a sliding triple.

Pretty impressive. Three of the four P’s successfully incorporated.

Pastis, pétanque and Parisians. It got pretty French in there.

Toss in a Provençal garden—that would’ve been a home run.

Now is the time to atone...

Introducing Château Cherbuliez, a literal cathedral of French magnificence and spiraled shrubbery, opening next week in the Limelight.

So, this place formerly housed Crossbar...

... Moving on. Now it’s less about crucifixes and gothiness and more about you eyeing chilled lobster and cherubic statuary from the safety of a sunbrella.

The lay of the land: you’ve got the garden—greenery everywhere and wrought-iron tables just begging to be Sunday’d in. The outside world: cut off. That behemoth of a raw bar back there: it’s got chilled oysters, lobster and crab legs—the air-conditioning of the sea.

Inside: wine. Lots of it. Plus steak frites, sueded stools and the musk of religion. But that’s just downstairs. Head upstairs. Slide your hand along that incredibly French wallpaper. Yes, that’s a trap door leading to the private dining room. Nothing but intricate embroidery and prix fixe menus there. Keep moving to the main dining room. A glass-bottomed (for some reason) date locale with a top-shelf-only bar and a delightful lack of extra space.

This concludes Bastille Week.