A French bistro on First Avenue that has somehow resisted every trend for over two decades. The steak frites are perfect, the escargot arrives bubbling, and the room at midnight on a Friday feels like the last outpost of a version of New York that everyone says is dead but clearly isn't. Lucien is proof.
Insider tip
Go after 10pm. Sit at the bar. Order the roast chicken and a carafe of the house red. You're home.
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