Chelsea's is a great restaurant. Absolutely the most uncomfortable bar area ever, but the food is so incredible that I just avoid the bar entirely.
I enjoy that you won't find a Budweiser or Coors here (don't hate... I love my Bud Light poolside as much as the next red-blooded Arizona asshole, but it's a nice touch to expose those who might otherwise be unwilling to something new and delicious. Case in point: my father, a republican, Nascar-watching Miller Lite drinker, loves to have a Stella while he's here. That's saying something.). The food is wonderfully and artfully prepared, and my otherwise simple male companions always find new favorites here.
The menu features accessibly delicious meals that men won't feel emasculated ordering (the spit-roasted prime rib, dixie pan-fried chicken), but still accommodates that girly bitch who lives at 44th and Thomas, but insists she's in Arcadia (Arcadia Featured salad, Vegetarian Nut Burger).
This could be why my Chelsea's is the only place my kooky family can agree upon.