Crane Club — Restaurant in New York

After a couple of hours on a yacht, watching the sunset and enjoying New York’s warm evening, we were hungry and went for a safe choice: a steakhouse. There were six of us, and Crane Club seemed perfect. We loved the idea — a woman at the helm as executive chef, her story, her legendary pasta, the famous sweet potato, and even a dessert with farro.

When we walked in, we were stunned. Vaulted ceilings, archways, enormous Art Deco chandeliers, heavy burgundy curtains, and waiters dressed to match. Round tables scattered across the hall looked like ballerinas in their wide skirts, each glowing with candlelight. The room was buzzing — loud, crowded, and undeniably beautiful.

At the start, we were even asked, “What are you celebrating tonight?” We said: “Women’s power.” Fitting, since the chef and her sous-chefs in the kitchen are also women. But by the end of the night, it was more of a fiasco than a celebration.

Our waiter took ages to appear. When he finally did, he introduced himself, but gave menus to another table. He disappeared, came back much later, asked about allergies (we had none), and eventually we got our menus.

The bread turned out to be the highlight of the evening — which isn’t great news for a restaurant of this level. But it really was good: several varieties, butter, some sauce, a scone with chives, even a bread basket made out of bread.

The tuna tartare was fine, nicely balanced with shiso. The famous mushrooms with black garlic arrived lukewarm and unimpressive. Potatoes were essentially a well-made latke. The signature sweet potato looked nothing like the Michelin guide photo — more like a sugary mashed dessert than anything savory.

Then came the pasta. The lasagna was decent, but without meat and with lots of citrus, it didn’t wow. The zucchini ravioli wasn’t memorable but not bad. The seafood pasta was left almost untouched: an overwhelming citrus flavor drowned out everything, and the seafood was nearly absent (a tiny shrimp at the bottom — was that supposed to count?). No one asked why the dish was left behind, and no one offered to pack it to go.

This was supposed to be a steakhouse moment: a $115 ribeye to save the night. But no — we left more than half on the plate. Again, no questions asked. Just taken away. Quite possibly the worst ribeye I’ve ever had.

Three of us left early. We hugged goodbye at the table — noticeable enough in a group of six. But the staff didn’t seem to notice: three teapots and one dessert were still served “for six.” Awkward, almost comical.

Tea should have been comforting. Instead, my teabag ripped open inside the pot. A young staffer, not in uniform, kindly suggested to replace it — the first and only gesture of care we experienced that night.

And the dessert with farro? It turned out to be more like morning porridge with peaches and a triple dose of cinnamon. Not for me.

The restroom sealed it: dirty, with the thinnest toilet paper — always a sign of cutting corners.

So, would I return? No. Recommend it? No. But was it beautiful? Absolutely....

You know a restaurant is bad when, on the way out, you find yourself telling your out-of-town guests, “I swear, NYC has good restaurants.”

After seeing all the hype about Crane Club, we excitedly booked a table and noted that we were celebrating a birthday, a pregnancy, and a promotion. A trifecta of milestones, seemingly worthy of a warm welcome.

Instead, we were relegated to an awkward side room that felt like an afterthought, clearly reserved for the B-listers whose follower counts don’t crack six figures. If Crane Club were a 1BR in Murray Hill, this area would be where a 23-year-old puts up a temporary wall to make a second bedroom in which they cry themselves to sleep at night.

We politely asked to move to the main dining room, but were brushed off by the obnoxious hostess with the well rehearsed “All of our tables are spoken for, but we’ll make a note in your profile for next time.” If there is ever a next time, please know that my resy account has been hacked.

To their credit, the cocktails were excellent and edible bread basket was delicious. Unfortunately, the bread basket was one of the only edible parts of the meal. The salads were small and forgettable, more aesthetic than appetizing. The entrees were so aggressively salty they tasted like they’d been made from concentrate. The pesto pasta was so overpowering it made me question whether the chef uses measuring spoons. None of us could eat it and we had to be send it back, which was particularly painful given someone in our party has a family-run a restaurant.

The prawns were uncomfortably fishy in a way that made you know exactly where it was in your digestive track at every turn. The sides seemed promising, but like everything else at crane club, made us regret having tastebuds. Perhaps it was our own fault for ordering a dish that the server warned us gets complaints for being chewy.

The service was relentless in all the wrong ways. It was obvious they were trying to hurry us along to give our table to the naive parties lying in wait at the bar. Appetizers arrived before we were ready, then sat awkwardly on the side while we tried to settle in. Staffers tried to take our plates mid bite. When we lingered, they returned, offering to swap out our in-use plates for fresh ones. While recounting a single story, we had to pause our conversation THREE separate times until the servers left the table and gave us some privacy.

By the time we declined dessert, we were just trying to leave before the restaurant completely killed our celebratory vibes. And yet, no birthday candle in a complimentary one-bite treat, no apologies for the inedible food, just a check dropped with the urgency of a tax return on April 15, and an attempt to grab it back before the final credit card had been put down.

Crane club, while beautiful, leaves you feeling icky from the attitude, bloated from the salt, and resentful for being robbed of a great meal with your best friends on...

My dinner experience at the Crane Club in New York was nothing short of extraordinary. From the moment I stepped through its elegant doors, I was enveloped in an ambiance that masterfully blended sophistication with warmth. The modern décor, soft lighting, and impeccable attention to detail immediately set the stage for a memorable evening.

The culinary journey began with a delightful amuse-bouche that teased the palate with layers of intricate flavors. Each subsequent course was a testament to the chef’s artistry and passion. The standout for me was the seared scallops, perfectly golden with a delicate crust, paired with a velvety cauliflower purée and a hint of citrus that brought the dish to life. The combination was as visually stunning as it was delicious.

Equally impressive was the service. Our waiter was attentive without being intrusive, knowledgeable about the menu, and offered excellent wine pairings that elevated each dish. The wine list itself was a treasure trove of exquisite selections, featuring options from both renowned vineyards and hidden gems.

To finish, the dessert was nothing short of a masterpiece—a deconstructed tiramisu that was as playful as it was decadent. It perfectly rounded out a meal that felt more like an artful performance than mere dining.

The Crane Club goes beyond providing excellent food and service; it crafts an experience that lingers in your memory long after the last bite. I cannot recommend this place enough for those looking to celebrate a special occasion or simply indulge in the best that New York has to offer. Bravo to the team for...