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| - Somewhere a B-movie producer is looking for a location to film a scene where corrupt fatcats smoke cigars and drink whiskey and make backroom deals about how to run the world. They need to roll their cameras right into this club, it's exactly what they're looking for. A classic old brick facade outside, a forest's worth of wood paneling inside, even a wall inscribed with the signers of the Declaration of Independence who were alumni of Harvard, Yale, and Princeton... clearly a refuge for old money old boys wearing bow ties and blue blazers. Can you tell that I didn't attend an Ivy League school?
In fairness, I was only here for a post-wedding brunch, but they did put on a pretty nice spread. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the scrambled eggs, usually a weak spot when made in buffet quantities, and the thickness of the bacon. They fell down a tad on the coffee, only one small-ish carafe that was empty less than 30 minutes after brunch started and with a backup pot brewing but not ready and waiting. Still, I walked out full and happy. Now where's my chauffeur with the Jag, guy's never around when I need him...
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