I should declare my bias up front: I have a strong antipathy towards theater restaurants—Sardi’s, Joe Allen’s, The Ivy in London, and all the other eateries favored by members of the theatrical profession over the years. I have dined at some pretty swank joints in my time and, let me tell you, Buckingham Palace isn’t half as hung up on placement and precedence as the average showbiz hang-out. There is the area for the professionals and the area for the civilians, and they are ruthlessly demarcated. When I was a young man about town, I’d occasionally dine with a producer or an actress or some such at Joe Allen’s. We’d be ushered past the nobodies and into the elite area, where Joan Collins once stumbled and fell on top of me. The next week I’d take a young lady to the theater, we’d drop by Joe’s afterwards, the maitre d’ would say, “How nice to see you again”—and then...

 
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