This week Jonathan Gold visits an old-style beefsteak dinner, in the manner of the regional gluttonous feasts (platters of beef, absence of vegetables, rivers of beer) of early last century New York.
Was this a New York beefsteak circa 1939? It was not. Vibiana is a soaring, bleached-white, deconsecrated cathedral, not a dank basement, and the 350 revelers, most of them superbly dressed, did not look as if they intended to spoil their clothing with well-aged grease. ("I do know most of the people here,'' a friend said. "Mostly from The Simpsons or from Harvard.'')