Gino's--Manhattan

(212) 758-4466‎

My first time in Gino's was a bit of an experience. I was there with a friend, his girl friend, and her friend. We were all just out of college, and I'd been in the city maybe a week passing through on a road trip across the states. My friend grew up in this place; all of his childhood birthdays, his graduations, and most of his holidays were spent dining at Gino's. I was so intimidated by the wealth that seemed to ooze from every geriatric patron, that I could barely hold my flatware, let alone enjoy the easy wasp driven attitude. I was wearing my nicest shirt from a mall in the fashionable Midwest, and the snot that my friend wasn't banging sized me up by asking where I had bought it. My friend the regular ordered for me and when the veal Milanese (still on the bone) arrived the simplicity and recognition relieved me, I didn't have to pretend to enjoy it. It also distracted me from trying to keep up with Hampton and Nantucket references, from deciphering just exactly what this girl did to enjoy a pent house apartment on 55th street, and from wondering why her inflection was so god-damned nasal. This experience was not so much about the meal I enjoyed, but rather about the first time I interacted with old, stodgy, money. I mean the class of people who look at your Ross shirt and Dockers, and know immediately that you are several pegs lower than them on the backwards, elitist code the entire Upper Eastside seems to live by.

Now I've eaten their a million times with my friend, and can be honest when I say that this place is worth checking out though the cuisine is nothing to get excited about. Upon entering you can feel that Gino's was really swinging in the late fifties, thick with smoke and loud with boisterous drunks, braces holding up their pants and hair slicked to their skulls. But the fluorescent lighting, the faded red wallpaper with Zebras, and the waitstaff that are roughly the same mean age as the patrons are a clear indication that its time has passed. The food is consistent red-sauce Italian. It's good, but not great. Words like infused, organic, and healthy should be left at the double swinging barn doors. The service is professionally brisk, honed from decades of repetition. The waiter walks up, takes your order, is annoyed for a bit, and from that point any two or three people working the dining room will deposit food and drink in front of you. Their assured way of serving leaves no doubt that they have the utmost confidence in what they are doing but also attests that they forgot long ago about hospitality. Interestingly enough, Gino's is one of the few restaurants in the city that still operates under the suffocating umbrella of the local restaurant union. And like many of the classic places of yesterday, Rainbow Room and Tavern on the Green to name a few, the Local 101 is driving Gino's right into the ground.

If you're dressed for it, and want to experience how the top 1% used to spend their days, then Gino's is for you. It won't be flashy, it won't be exciting, it probably won't be that impressive, but as a bedrock for old family money, it's an example that's tough to beat.