Eastern Standard reminds me of that scene in Star Trek: First Contact where Picard loses his shit and machine-guns the Borg in a holodeck made out to look like a mob bar from the 1930s. It was cool to see Picard get all crazy-eyed in that movie. Sometimes a man just can’t take anymore and needs to machine gun all the cyborgs in the room. Also he looked pretty dapper in that white suit, gotta hand it to him.
If you’re sporting an ascot and your date is a sparkly flapper, Eastern Standard would be the bee’s knees place for a WWII LARP. The restaurant has interesting cocktails and tiny overpriced dishes of grown-up snacks like “duck confit” and “roasted bone marrow” that appeal to self-important business people and wine Nazis. I once spent two hours praying that a meteor would destroy Kenmore while my coworkers swished fermented grapes around in their glasses and mumbled about how “full-bodied” and “muscular” it all tasted.
Your money is better wasted at Unos down the street than Eastern Standard, but for those of you who shirk fiscal responsibility, here’s some advice:
- Spend some time at the bar during lunch. The bartenders will make you special drinks, which is nice if you’re a retired alcoholic with a big pension plan.
- Never order a salad, even out of spite. You will regret it.
- Always make reservations, because it’s unlikely you’re going to end up at Eastern Standard at 10:30 am on a Tuesday afternoon.