While many of New York’s haute French dinosaurs have gone extinct, historic La Grenouille, opened in 1962, remains a window to a time when stuffy waiters and chateaubriand were considered the highest form of dining. Inside, it doesn’t get much snootier: jackets are required, cell phones and kids forbidden, and the electric red décor, full of mirrors and flowers and deco details, has the feel of a Mad Men power lunch. That said, La Grenouille endures for a reason. The execution—whether tender, fried sweetbreads, buttery Dover sole with a mustard sauce, or five types of pillowly soufflé—remains near flawless. But you will pay for the fancy flashback: the steep three-course prix fixe runs what a full-blown tasting menu does at other top spots, and that’s before numerous insulting supplements and the heavy-hitter wine list. Living history comes at a price.
