The only thing better than the proverbial free lunch is a free dinner.  When a co-worker selected the Grand Central Oyster Bar for a dinner on a vendor’s dime (Lexis Nexus, here is the plug for Counsel Link) I was thrilled.  Eluded to in Mad Men (and actually directly referenced in tonight’s episode), the name conjured up images of gibson fueled decadence.

The first hint of trouble was on the bodies of our fellow dinners at tables near by.  Tennis shoes here, a hoodie clad bunch there, I think I may have even seen a fanny pack.   I just don’t understand the drive to fly to New York dressed ready to crawl into a warm blanketed couch for a post-break-up How I Met Your Mother marathon.  I mean I get comfort, but if you’re going out for what should be a nice meal, at least swing by the hotel for a quick change.  [Tourist rant over.]

The menu looked great.  The oysters were great.  But as our entrees reached the table, my heart sank at the sight of the sorry looking steamed veggies lining the sides of our plates.  The fish was lack luster.  Generally flavorless.  Possibly defrosted.  Not worth the price. Instead of Mad Men dreams I found a tourist trap.

The Bar sprawls under Grand Central.   On a trip to the restroom, I wandered through the dining room, past rows of counters, and found myself in a section called the Saloon.  This was more what I had in mind: New Yorkers grabbing after work drinks over oysters and small tempting looking plates.  The Saloon might be worth a return trip.

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