To the Nines. A few months ago I visited the new NYC piano bar and supper club The Nines, located in the old Acme space. The Nines is pure escape. With dim sconce lighting, burgundy velvets, leopard carpeting, and a piano man straight out of the 1920s, it’s a capsule of old-world glamour and a departure from modern life. “Going out used to be a bigger affair,” said owner John Neidich. “It wasn’t accepted as such a common activity.” The Nines is thus a return to the pageantry and theater of an adult night out. Entering the space, I had to pass through a sort of anteroom, a dark mirrored area before a velvet curtain. Here, the portal seemed to say, is where you shed reality, creating just a bit of distance between you and the outside world. The owners also lowered the ceilings to enhance the intimacy. The N ̊9 (gin, manzanilla, vermouth) is balanced. Their hamachi is briny and tangy. But the real magic is in the air, in that perfectly rouged light (an endless point of fixation for Neidich). “The lighting is by far the most important thing. It sets the foundation for everything,” he said, glancing up at a chandelier with a furrowed brow. “And that’s actually a bit too bright. I need to lower that.” (He did.)

A Modern French Masterpiece. There’s a dazzling newcomer on Manhattan’s Upper West Side: Essential by Christophe, led by chef Christophe Bellanca, the former culinary director of Joël Robuchon USA. Interiors are refreshingly restrained, with swaths of dove gray and light wood. In homey juxtaposition to its honed surroundings sits a bread stand, where staff cut thick, chewy chunks of olive and country loaf ideal for mopping up the luscious sauces pooled within each dish. The dishes themselves — while drawing on French technique — quietly pay homage to other cultures. Imagine a sweet, tangy yuzu brightening hiramasa; a turmeric emulsion deepening wild black bass; or jalapeño punching through whipped potato. The restaurant’s seafood is particularly exceptional: blue prawns topped with little hats of crispy genmaicha tuile and dollops of caviar snap in the mouth, while butter-soft scallops blanketed in a clean, humble leaf of savoy cabbage offer a playful high-low pairing. Cocktails are dreamy, featuring the same skill and careful measure showcased in each dish. The Angeline (frapin cognac, manzanilla sherry, pineau des charentes, crème de banane, black lemon) is bright yet rich, the crème de banane lending a touch of fruit without verging anywhere close to tiki. The Camaro (coconut-washed Japanese whiskey, amaro, barley shochu, black walnut) loosens the shoulders — it’s deep and round, a warm hug in a glass.

Seductive and Savory. Downtown New York City has no shortage of sexy bars, but Jac’s on Bond (from the team behind Pebble Bar, Ray’s, and Georgia Room) is next level. If you like to prowl the city by night and believe a martini to be one of life’s naughtiest pleasures, you may have been here already. Let’s start with the location: swanky Bond Street — broad, cobblestoned, dotted with beloved eateries, shops, and celebrity penthouses. Now the entrance: semi-subterranean, the former residence of beloved haunt The Smile. The interiors are ’90s minimalist and sumptuous, dim, and clubby in spirit — where one might sip cocktails with Patrick Bateman before meeting their bloody, high-camp death. I like a savory drink, savory anything, really, and Jac’s Caprese Martini is an umami delight. Try the Detox Retox (Hendrick’s gin, elderflower tonic, celery, lemon, coriander, salt) for something light and bright. For sustenance, the jamón serrano bikini is the salty snack you want at the end of a long day, and the creamsicle pie is for feeling like a kid again, surrounded by adults.

All Things Japanese. HOUSE Brooklyn is the latest offering from the gorgeous culinary concept at 50 Norman Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. The sprawling, light-filled industrial space is dedicated to all things Japanese — from a dashi broth bar to a lifestyle store filled with items such as artisanal chocolate studded with candied fruit, glassware, ceramics, and textiles. In the very back, behind a sliding shoji paper door, lies a new secret: an intimate omakase counter before a warm, open-concept kitchen, where chef Yuji Tani prepares a French-Japanese-inspired tasting menu. The experience feels reverential in nature and playful in taste. Dishes go from smoked Japanese amberjack marinated in salt to burrata under a crunchy strawberry net, highlighting a honed approach to both Eastern and Western influences. The last course I experienced on my visit was a hearty pile of foie-gras rice: nutty and creamy, tossed with aromatic scallions and served tableside from one big pot by chef Tani. File under: Dinner and a show.

Worth the Frenzy. I audibly gasped walking into Ilis, the most hotly anticipated restaurant in Brooklyn. It’s like being inside of a spaceship (the spot is 6,000 square feet with soaring ceilings — not one picture I’ve found on the internet does this cathedral justice). It’s abuzz with pedigree; executive chef and owner Mads Refslund was one of Noma’s founding chefs. And his newest concept carries the spirit of Noma in many ways: playful dishes rendered in painstaking detail, with a poetic sense of place. Speaking of playful — Ilis is changing up the restaurant structure. There’s no front of house or back of house. The kitchen is smack in the middle of the restaurant, and the entire team is composed of chefs, alternating between servers and cooks every two weeks. There were two stars of the night for me, in terms of dishes. One: the fire-roasted trout in birchbark with roe butter and Brussels sprouts. Smoky and salty, the fish’s oily, velvety flesh was nostalgic — like the cured fish of Jewish brunch spreads and godeungeo gui, a Korean salted mackerel dish. Snappy Brussels sprout leaves made to be dipped into that decadent roe butter, skewed more classically French, a fun bit of briny, fatty side theater. The second star was a cocktail simply entitled “Grape.” Containing genziello (a blend of gentian root and limoncello), navy-strength gin, grape, and dry vermouth, it was one of the most delightful cocktails I’ve had all year — slightly tart, thirst-quenching, fresh, curiously cloudy, and pale green in color, like the inside of its namesake. I fantasize about wandering in and posting up at the bar one night this winter when the media frenzy has subsided a bit (delusional to think that will happen by winter, but, hey, this is my fantasy). In this little dream, I take in the spectacle of the central kitchen’s flaring fires, admire the fashionable bodies photographing their dishes, and say to the bartender, “May I please have a Grape?” 

Scents of Comfort. I’m writing this after slathering myself in hand cream from Elorea, a new plant-based Korean fragrance brand from which I’ve been deriving enormous comfort. It’s a (sniffs knuckles) lightweight citrus dream. Elorea’s hand soap has the same bright, invigorating scent, while their perfumes — their perfumes! — Heaven, Earth, Water, and Fire range from moody and mysterious to effervescent and clean. An homage to the country’s scent heritage, made with all Korean ingredients in small batches, Elorea is a refreshing and exciting presence in the Eurocentric fragrance market. I plan to dot some Fire, with its hints of Jeju citrus and spice, grounded in warm notes of amber and leather, on my neck tonight. 

Well-heeled. I recently fell in love with Yuni Buffa, named after its South Korean female founder. Constantly in pursuit of the perfect summer slide, it must be endlessly walkable and streamlined, an organic extension of the body itself. I thus present the collection’s Lucca Wedge, a leg-lengthening, bouncy little shoe sent from the shoe gods. Handmade in Tuscany, the upper is a supple and gummy Nappa leather with a padded leather insole for that pep in your step that’s needed on a hot, humid day. The heel is made of weightless Sardinian cork with a shock-absorbing sole that doesn’t clack and rattle your knees as you walk down the stairs (like some hard-bottomed mules do). I chose the sage color — a whisper-quiet shade of green that acts more like a neutral. It’s a shoe made with an eye for both beauty and reality, for a wearer who wants to look elegant but has a lot of things to do and places to be.

Blue Lagooned. A few months ago I spent a spiritual weekend at the Retreat at the Blue Lagoon. The property resembles a villain’s lair in a James Bond film — dark dramatic stone, and soaring windows looking over a landscape of black volcanic rock covered in chartreuse moss. The retreat is built into a private section of the lagoon, a mineral-rich body of geothermal water, one of the 25 Wonders of the World. The color of milky aquamarine, the hot water contains mystical healing properties for bathers. Standout moments were the little crackling fireplaces throughout the hotel in the evenings; Float Therapy — a form of meditation in which a therapist assists your body in a float session, aided by gentle stretches and total sensory deprivation; and a phenomenal meal at their restaurant, Moss, where a slab of lamb came out on a smoking rock. Even if you don’t find yourself in Iceland anytime soon, you can still experience the lagoon through their stunning skin-care line (developed by the state-of-the-art lab next door). My favorites are the Bath Salt and Hydrating Cream.

A Romantic Room. The San Ysidro Ranch in Santa Barbara will live in my mind as perhaps the most tranquil stay I’ve ever experienced — though I’m far from the first to have fallen. Past guests have included JFK and Jackie O, Winston Churchill, and Audrey Hepburn. The storied grounds are something out of a fairy tale: silvery-purple lavender, fuchsia bougainvillea, yellow roses, and silky grass manicured to putting-green level perfection. Walking amid the butterflies and hummingbirds through San Ysidro’s blossom-lined stone paths, the Santa Ynez Mountains rising dramatically in the distance, feels something like folklore. Set in a breathtaking cottage (really stretching the word “cottage” here; this place was massive), my lodging featured romantic details like a four-poster bed draped in French lace, and a chandelier-crowned bathroom with blossoming wallpaper and an indoor-outdoor shower. At their restaurant, The Stonehouse, set inside a nineteenth-century citrus packing house, I dined beside a crackling stone fireplace, under trees strung with twinkling lights. The menu features elegant American classics and an exquisite wine list.