Monkey Bar became one of my favorite Midtown restaurants because its modern history ran almost…read moreperfectly alongside my years in New York. I arrived in 2008 with very little, and when Graydon Carter revived the restaurant in 2009, I was beginning a rise of my own, first at a large global bank and then, to my astonishment, at one of the city's most powerful investment firms. The suits were daily, the walls were gold, and the pressure was so consuming that even success could feel like a form of attrition. After a few years, I moved to a smaller firm with Southern roots, where the culture was more humane, the work gave me greater autonomy, and I produced some of the strongest results of my career, even within an industry still governed by fear, greed, and status. Inside, the red booths, low lighting, generous spacing, and hand-painted monkey murals made lunch feel ceremonial without becoming stiff. The room was timeless and handsome, with polished service, quality food, and the subtle assurance of a place where you could be proud to bring someone important. I especially remember sitting in one of those booths with two mentors, each only a few years older than I was and therefore close enough in vintage to feel relatable, trustworthy, and genuinely within reach. One had entered my life after I left the larger firm and helped me understand an earlier chapter that had also ended abruptly and, at the time, felt deeply unfair; the other had guided me through the smaller firm where I finally found a more sustainable way to work. Over that long lunch, I introduced them, we discussed several promising ideas, and for a moment my career seemed to have reached the point where relationships, experience, and opportunity were finally converging. One of those ideas consumed an extraordinary amount of my time and energy, and I believed it might become the foundation of my next chapter. Instead, the arrangement eventually turned on me, the role I thought I had earned never materialized, and the business itself sputtered. My professional life, financial footing, and pride all collapsed just as COVID was beginning. Then Monkey Bar closed in 2020, which made the ending feel almost unnervingly complete: the restaurant, the city, and the version of myself built around New York finance all went dark at once. For years, I experienced that ending as devastating and unfair; now I can see it as wisdom delivered through an unnecessarily rough process. The restaurant's later revival by a Chicago hospitality group feels fitting because it still honors tradition and ceremony while allowing the old forms to evolve into something healthier, looser, and more current. I have not been back since that lunch, but a return now would feel like visiting the museum of my past, not reclaiming a life that asked too much, gave too little, and finally lost its hold on me. Even now, I remember Monkey Bar as a great Midtown lunch in a memorable room, surrounded by the residue of old ambitions and the gratitude of having survived them. The cocktails were sharp, the service was impeccable, and the dining room carried that glamorous old New York energy without feeling trapped by it. I remain deeply fond of the place, partly for what it was and partly for what it witnessed. Some restaurants become attached to a chapter of your life, and Monkey Bar holds mine with unusual grace.

The truffle monkey bread while a total carb and calorie bomb was delicious and left a lasting…read moreimpression. It featured a crispy, sugar-glazed exterior and a soft, chewy interior, topped with truffle cheese and served with a truffle butter dip; the pairing was superb, and it tasted great both on its own and with the dip. For the main course, I ordered the miso-glazed black cod. The flavor was flawless, and while the portion was small (which was acceptable), the pool of broth accompanying it was completely unnecessary; it was inedibly salty, so what was the point of serving it? After finishing the fish, I was left with a plate full of broth, rendering the plate unusable. Plus, it was overpriced; for this dish, you're better off going to Strip House Strip House remains the undisputed king of this dish in New York. A friend ordered the chicken parmesan. It was just average. Another friend ordered the short rib stroganoff. The flavor was decent, but it was far too rich and heavy. As someone whose palate is split 50/50 between Western and Chinese cuisine, I could manage only five bites at most. If you have a palate that prefers 100% Chinese food, proceed with caution on this dish. Friends ordered sides of mac & cheese and mashed potatoes. These are dishes originally meant for low-income Americans to fill up on cheaply; there's no limit to how good they can be, but also no floor to how bad they can get. Both were on par with the average quality found in upscale restaurants. Honestly, these are two dishes I would never order myself. To sum up: the atmosphere was great. It's also hard to get a reservation; the place was packed when we had lunch at 2 PM. Aside from that monkey bread, I didn't feel like anything else justified the price or offered something you couldn't find elsewhere. I don't quite get the hype. Perhaps I just didn't order the right dishes; maybe next time I'll try the burger and the steak.