Why Do Rich Guys Love Diners?
One of the more significant rules of New York City social life is the one no one tells you: restaurants labeled or described as “power” destinations aren’t really where the most powerful people are dining out. They’re going to be at the last place you’d suspect.
Never was there a better illustration of this tenet than the first episode of the final season of Succession, and it was presented in two parts, in two very different dining rooms a few blocks away from each other on the Upper East Side. The first was Tom Wamsgans having breakfast at The Mark hotel (25 East 77th Street), the second, Logan Roy sneaking out of his own birthday party at home and escaping to Nectar (1090 Madison Avenue).
Of course, for the uninitiated or unconcerned The Mark would probably seem like the place where the money is, and yes, that’s often true, but, although undeniably elegant and always in good taste, it’s not always where the power is.
Opened three blocks south at East 79th Street in 1975, the first Nectar shuttered during COVID, but its younger sister (est. 1982), where the pater familias sought shelter from the menagerie of sycophants, false friends, and disgusting brothers at the celebratory shitshow in his honor, is still thriving. It is one of Madison Avenue’s remaining Greek-owned coffee shops (as they were once called) or diners (as we’d call them today) and where the Logan Roys of the world transact business over a BLT. Nectar is probably the most low-key of the bunch.
Viand could be considered the most “prominent,” if such a thing can be said of a diner. A block down from the first Nectar sat the original outpost (est. 1968, closed in 2015) where former Mayor Mike Bloomberg was known to have his morning soft-boiled egg and well-done toast before switching over to healthier egg whites and adding cantaloupe to the mix, and other well-known New York politicians like Elliot Spitzer, his one-time rival Scott M. Stringer, and former New York City Schools Chancellor Joel I. Klein were also spotted. Karl Lagerfeld was said to be a fan, and why not? He could sip his Diet Coke and slyly observe his clientele in their natural habitat, dressed in their timeless tweed jackets as they nibbled on chicken salad sandwiches.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Their jackets might have been (not-new) Chanel, but these are not glamorous settings. We’re talking cramped linoleum tables and counter, a few (also) cramped booths, grilled cheese, omelets and hash browns, cottage cheese plates, and Greek Salads; your food comes out fast, the service is straightforward, and reservations aren’t taken. Apparently, Bloomberg liked it for the above reasons and because of its “affordability” (for comparison: a standard grilled cheese sandwich at Viand is $11.50; the same item at Washington Square Diner in Greenwich Village is $7.95).
At its younger sibling across the street from Barneys New York, you might find a Tisch or a Lauder grabbing a midday bite near the office (we’ve heard Aerin orders delivery). Nearby, sandwiched between Viand and Nectar and a stone’s throw from The Mark is 3 Guys Restaurant (the original, at 960 Madison Avenue, est. 1978), where Logan also might have gone. Mayor Mike hit up 3 Guys sometimes, and other captains of industry like Lloyd Blankfein and Jamie Dimon have dined there too; Caroline Kennedy’s been a longtime regular (she has a large salad).
As for Nectar, it was another Bloomberg stomping ground. He would stop into the first for his coffee (with milk) before going to work (he used to get scrambled eggs and toast with that, until he started breakfasting at Viand instead).
Now, if you’re wondering why Logan would frequent these restaurants, we can explain. It operates on a similar principle as that of fashion—think LKRB. No labels, nothing too flashy or sparkly, shoes shouldn’t look just-purchased or polished, leather must be worn-in.
In America, the greatest aspiration has always been the impossible one: Old Money. Historically, it’s been considered a singularly WASP-y phenomenon, and is a cruel paradox for those who would strive for the ultimate success. Although it’s impossible to achieve old-money status without actually being from (or marrying into) old money, you can achieve the same level of power and (very nearly) privilege as these equivalents of our country’s aristocracy. And stylistically, because this brand of power has a distinct lifestyle, you can fake it once you make it. Case in point: Logan Roy.
When he, for what might be the first time in the show’s history, dines at a public establishment, he does not go to a fancy Michelin restaurant or legendary luxury hotel. That would imply consideration, that you required some sort of validation or hoped to make a good impression—in short, that you tried.
He goes to Nectar, for the food of our national gods, the WASPs, which is the most basic, sometimes deliberately bland food, in a clean but worn-in, unfussy setting. You go there to conduct your business and enjoy a consistently reliable meal as efficiently and discreetly as possible, surrounded by other people just like you. You know they’re there. They know you’re there. You can see everyone’s reflection in the mirrored paneling, and the tables are too close together to miss anyone. But none of you is there to fraternize. You are there to blend in, to be part of the club without its ever seeming like there’s a club to belong to, because you’re too comfortable with your power to try and too powerful to care.
Maybe you realize the irony that, like Logan or the owners of these diners and the cooks preparing your food, you or your ancestors were not on the Mayflower and had to start with nothing, and now, here you are, dining on an overpriced tuna sandwich and this is what it means to have arrived. Maybe you’re tickled by that. Logan might be too. But the reason he loves it and feels right at home? It’s both the ultimate seat of power and the perfect “fuck off” of a restaurant.
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