I met a girlfriend for dinner on familiar territory beside MoMA, where Midtown knows how to behave beautifully in public. 53, however, saves its more interesting intentions for downstairs.
The descent is part of the seduction. One leaves the brightness of West 53rd Street and slips below ground into a dining room that feels hidden, glowing and ever so slightly illicit. Curved wooden forms sweep across the interior, intimate lighting softens everyone involved, and the city above begins to feel pleasingly irrelevant. It is somewhere between an artful supper club and a very expensive secret.
In other words, perfect territory for a night with the girls.
Designed by ICRAVE beneath MoMA’s extended wing, 53 possesses a special kind of sex appeal: polished, cosmopolitan and confident enough not to smother itself in velvet. The room shimmers without becoming theatrical, while rotating artwork presented in collaboration with Friedrich Petzel Gallery keeps the surrounding visual language intelligently connected to its rather illustrious neighbor.
Still, we had not come to study the walls.
The martinis arrived properly glacial and far too easy to imbibe, which is both a compliment and a warning. A great martini should make you feel sharper while quietly compromising the evidence. These managed precisely that. They encouraged conversation, loosened laughter and made ordering foie gras feel less like a decision than a moral imperative.
The waitstaff, meanwhile, was immaculate. Service unfolded with that increasingly rare combination of warmth, polish and intuition. Someone appeared before a glass emptied, explained each dish without reciting its autobiography and disappeared before attentiveness became surveillance. They understood that a girls’ dinner requires care, certainly, although it also requires enough privacy to discuss matters of national importance—men, work, clothes and who has recently lost her mind.
The menu comes from Singapore-born chef Akmal Anuar, whose culinary education began at his parents’ hawker stand before carrying him through celebrated kitchens in Asia and Dubai. At 53, those experiences converge in dishes that move among Asian traditions with refinement, confidence and a willingness to misbehave.
The Eel Club was the evening’s undisputed star. Barbecued eel, pan-seared foie gras, toast and cherry arrived layered into one outrageous little composition. The unagi brought smoke and sweetness; the foie gras melted across it with indecent richness, while the fruit delivered enough acidity to prevent the entire affair from requiring smelling salts.
It was absolute, orgasmic perfection.
Some dishes inspire analysis. Others make intelligent women stop speaking. This did both. The pairing should have felt excessive—eel and foie gras are hardly known for emotional restraint—yet every element heightened the next. The result was silken, savory, slightly sweet and gloriously decadent. MoMA may keep its Picassos upstairs; for several exquisite minutes, I was prepared to make a serious curatorial argument for the Eel Club.
The halibut offered a quieter seduction. Steamed with dashi and scallion, it arrived tender, delicate and beautifully restrained, its clean flavor providing an elegant counterpoint to the shamelessness that preceded it. The fish nearly dissolved upon contact, while the broth carried warmth and depth without overpowering its softness.
Then came the pepper steak—beef tenderloin with black peppercorn and leek—which melted in the mouth with almost suspicious ease. The pepper supplied heat and aromatic bite, giving the beef authority without burying its natural richness. It was bold, deeply satisfying and sufficiently generous to discourage any performance of feminine restraint. Girls’ night is no place for pretending one only wanted a salad.
Throughout dinner, the room grew sexier. Light moved across glasses, conversations deepened and another round began to seem less like indulgence than excellent time management. 53 understands that atmosphere cannot simply be installed. It emerges from design, hospitality, music, food and the particular energy of people delighted to be exactly where they are.
Perhaps that is why the restaurant works so well for an evening between girlfriends. Nothing demands ceremony, yet everything feels special. One can dress beautifully, drink dangerously cold martinis, share extraordinary plates and laugh with enough conviction to make neighboring tables wish they had been invited.
We eventually resurfaced onto 53rd Street refreshed, very well fed and perhaps a touch more opinionated than when we entered.
53 is located at 53 West 53rd Street in Midtown Manhattan. Visit 53-nyc.com.
