If you were thinking of having a romantic, maybe illicit, meal at the Plaza Hotel, be ready to share your passion in a mobbed, underground food court — or over a slice of pizza on the sidewalk in front.
Incredibly, for the moment at least, the Plaza — merely one of the city’s (the world’s?) “iconic” hotels for 100 years — does not have a single open restaurant within its Eloise-soaked walls. The Palm Court quietly shut down for “renovations” this month, following the blackout of the Oak Room. The popular Todd English Food Hall, a warren of bustling counters, isn’t my idea of a discreet or luxurious dining experience.
This is a shame, because the Plaza eateries were great for going unseen by your friends, colleagues and ex- or current lovers/spouses.
Contrary to myth, the venues were mainly trafficked by hotel guests and tourists besotted by memories of Cary Grant in “North by Northwest.”
Last year, the Plaza hired the hip Chatwal family team to run its eateries and Lambs Club chef Geoffrey Zakarian to head up the kitchens.
Yet all remain dark. Plaza reps promise the “reimagined” Palm Court will reopen in September and the Oak Room and Bar in 2015 — but we’ve heard that before. 
[/credit] I hope Zakarian, a truly fine New York chef, gets to work his magic. But I’d be happier if they’d just reopen the landmarked rooms as they were, with no-name chefs and mediocre, overpriced menus guaranteed to scare off locals. Every great city needs wining-and-dining venues hidden from prying eyes, but they’re fast disappearing in Midtown.
The plush old hotel eating parlors, drenched in illicit promise, guaranteed privacy if nothing else, typically tucked deep inside the building or heavily curtained like the jewel-box, sidewalk-facing Cafe Pierre.
Today, you’ll starve for seclusion at jumbo inns like the New York Hilton, Sheraton New York and New York Palace (where Villard Michel Richard closed eight months after it opened). Their eating options consist of crowded lobby lounges, grab-and-go “markets” and tacky sports bars.
The St. Regis, once home to Alain Ducasse’s sexy and deeply-embedded Adour, now offers only a John DeLucie-affiliated “King Cole Bar & Salon” eating area off the lobby.
Le Parker Meridien has not had a full-scale restaurant in eons: French bistro Seppi’s closed a few years ago. Norma’s off the lobby is not open for dinner and serves no liquor. A great prelude to afternoon delight!
At the Ritz-Carlton on Central Park South, the space once occupied by Manhattan’s only great hotel restaurant, womb-like Atelier, is now a watch boutique. A generic bistro attached to the bar lets tourists scrutinize your every bite through sidewalk windows.
The old guard’s near-extinction is due mainly to union work rules, which require four sets of hands to lift a pot, and gross mismanagement based on antiquated “food and beverage” parameters.
It’s a damned shame. I perversely miss the humorless waiters muttering “at your service” as they sneeringly brought the wrong drink.
And the dinosaurs’ demise is outright ruinous to New Yorkers wishing not to be seen by other New Yorkers. Cheaters having affairs or executives sneaking lunch with competitors risked more exposure in Ouagadougou than in awful old eateries at the New York Hilton.
More common is the example of the former Cafe Pierre, which became short-lived Le Caprice and is today Sirio Ristorante. When the Maccioni family stepped in, it became no longer a hotel restaurant, but a Manhattan restaurant with an avid local following.
The fine Italian food is comfortingly familiar — but the crowd’s too familiar for comfort.