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Chefs who passed through the Four Seasons kitchen included , Christian Albin , and Seppi Renggli —men who taught New Yorkers that a vegetable could be the star of a plate. Part IV: The Fall and The Ghost No empire lasts forever. By the 1990s, the "Power Lunch" had moved downtown to Nobu and the Waverly Inn. The Grill Room’s air grew slightly musty. The pink marble, once futuristic, felt dated.

Baum was a visionary. He believed that a restaurant could be a destination, a piece of theater. He gave Johnson a mandate: build a room that changes with the seasons, a room so beautiful that people would weep. Johnson delivered.

For 57 years, the entrance to the Four Seasons Restaurant was a portal to another era. Just off the soaring, bronze-sculpted lobby of the Seagram Building at 99 East 52nd Street, diners stepped from the Midtown grid into a cathedral of mid-century modernism. The air smelled different inside—a mix of expensive tobacco, fresh flowers, and the particular aroma of deals being sealed. menu four seasons restaurant nyc

Whether the resurrection happens or not, the Four Seasons Restaurant is already eternal. It sits in the memory of anyone who ever saw the light hit that chain-mail curtain just right, or heard the soft splash of the Pool over a whispered merger. It is the ghost at every power lunch, the standard by which all other rooms are judged.

In its prime, the Four Seasons offered one of the most intoxicating drinks in New York: the feeling that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And as the lights dimmed on that final night in 2016, one waiter was heard to whisper to a regular, "Don't worry, sir. We'll be back. We always come back in the spring." Chefs who passed through the Four Seasons kitchen

It was never just a restaurant. It was a stage, a boardroom, a see-and-be-seen theater of American power. To talk about the Four Seasons is to talk about the architecture of Philip Johnson, the social anthropology of the "Power Lunch," and the gustatory evolution of American fine dining. It is a story of how a room designed by geniuses, run by eccentrics, and fed by perfectionists became the most important restaurant in the history of New York City. The story begins not with a chef, but with a chemist. Samuel Bronfman, the Canadian distiller who built the Seagram whiskey empire, wanted a headquarters that would shame its competitors. He commissioned Ludwig Mies van der Rohe to build a tower of amber glass and bronze—the Seagram Building, an icon of International Style architecture.

In 2016, the landlord—the Bronfman family’s successor company—refused to renew the lease. The restaurant’s co-owners, Julian Niccolini (the volatile, charming Sicilian) and Alex von Bidder (the urbane Dutchman), fought a public, bitter battle. They lost. The Grill Room’s air grew slightly musty

It was, simply, the best.