Delectations

IN the Manhattan world of snob dining, La Caravelle, 33 West 55th Street, is spoken of with particular reverence. There, the cognoscenti say, is about the finest restaurant this side of Paris, with food out of this world and service that is the most stylish in New York. All this is due to the professional expertise of the owners, Fred Decre and Robert Meyzen, who sprang from the finishing school for New York restaurateurs that the late, finicky Henri Soulé ran at his Pavilion. The chef, Roger Fessaguet, is said to be as dedicated to his metier as the angels are to praising the Highest. The restaurant itself is pretty elegant, though the tables are far too close to each other for comfort. There are sunny murals that come off, unlike 99 per cent of all restaurant murals. La Caravelle consists of a narrow status corridor where the true nobs dine, and a large, though not excessively so, back room for the general populace who can afford the prices. This room is very noisy, and if you have lively neighbors, you can barely hear yourself talk. There are flowers on the tables, not lavish bouquets, but still, fresh flowers.

I had eaten lunch at La Caravelle before, and had been pleased with the food and service. Little did I know that my pleasure was due entirely to the status enjoyed by my host, my darling publisher Alfred Knopf Jr. Thus when friends wanted to treat my husband and me to a smashing dinner, I chose La Caravelle. Ha!

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Nika Hazelton

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IN the Manhattan world of snob dining, La Caravelle, 33 West 55th Street, is spoken of with particular reverence. There, the cognoscenti say, is about the finest restaurant this side of Paris, with food out of this world and service that is the most stylish in New York. All this is due to the professional expertise of the owners, Fred Decre and Robert Meyzen, who sprang from the finishing school for New York restaurateurs that the late, finicky Henri Soulé ran at his Pavilion. The chef, Roger Fessaguet, is said to be as dedicated to his metier as the angels are to praising the Highest. The restaurant itself is pretty elegant, though the tables are far too close to each other for comfort. There are sunny murals that come off, unlike 99 per cent of all restaurant murals. La Caravelle consists of a narrow status corridor where the true nobs dine, and a large, though not excessively so, back room for the general populace who can afford the prices. This room is very noisy, and if you have lively neighbors, you can barely hear yourself talk. There are flowers on the tables, not lavish bouquets, but still, fresh flowers.

I had eaten lunch at La Caravelle before, and had been pleased with the food and service. Little did I know that my pleasure was due entirely to the status enjoyed by my host, my darling publisher Alfred Knopf Jr. Thus when friends wanted to treat my husband and me to a smashing dinner, I chose La Caravelle. Ha!