Once a month, I have occasion to meet some colleagues at Felidia, the celebrated Italian restaurant on E. 58th Street. Each time, when I exit and make my way down Second Avenue, I pass by the weird old relic known as Les Sans Culottes, a French throwback that couldn't be more different from the contemporary, polished Felidia. Les Sans Culottes has collected more eccentricity in a mere 32 years than this City should bestow on a restaurant. I suspect it was never grand, the way other neighboring French places like Le Veau d'Or, were. It was always a little kooky, a little kitschy. It's endearing to its regulars, though, I dare say. And those sausage trees!
Here is my take on Eater.
Who Goes to Gene's Restaurant?
Who Goes to Villa Mosconi?
I work around there and i'll tell you, the old geezery couples that live on Sutton Place, the men have elbow patches on their blazers and the woman have plastic surgury..have to check your eater article...btw the band les sans cullotes is playing in front of Last Exit at the atlantic antic..
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