Letter From The Caribou

There is no name on the door, but you know exactly where you are. That's because the Caribou Club, although quite private and unlike anywhere else, has elements that are reassuringly familar. The Caribou will remind you of places perennially in fashion, where you know you'll meet old friends from all over the world. It is quietly old-world and well-bred, like a vintage Bordeaux, but unassuming and comfortable like a Beaujolais. It is the sort of establishment where the bartender might ask what you would like, but most probably will say, "a martini, three olives, one ice cube," because he remembers you from the night before. It's also the kind of place where a woman could wear jeans and a silk blouse, set off by a beautiful silver belt buckle-or a drop-dead Dior.

The Caribou opened ten years ago in the historic Collins Block, around the corner from the Wheeler Opera House and down the block from the Brand Hotel, where spoiling guests is a fine art that the owner Harley Baldwin brought to the Caribou. The attention to detail that makes all the difference begins when your foot is in the door. You enter into the Caribou through a full-bodied mahogany-and-brass door and down the staircase into a wood-paneled foyer with 19th-century paintings of western landscapes, like views of Capitol and Pyramid Peaks. Someone welcomes you-by name; another takes your coat. You feel as if you were the houseguest of a great friend.

You move easily into the Great Room, a large but cozy space with British racing-green walls covered in first-class Western art: a Remington, a Bierstadt, a Nesbit. A roaring fireplace, overstuffed chairs, a ten-foot sofa that's five feet deep, strewn with lots of down pillows. Your feet can rest on an ottoman the length of the sofa covered in Pendleton blankets from the '30s. Undoubtedly you'll see people you know. The Great Room can be anything you want it to be-a place for a glass of champagne (at six in the evening or one in the morning), a cup of tea steeped and served in wonderful teapots, the perfect small snack: gravlax and pumpernickel, or scones, clotted cream and homemade raspberry jam. Or it can simply be a venue for a meeting of the minds or the hearts.

The Caribou Bar is one of those masculine bars that women love. Of course you can sit down, but somehow, this bar is made for standing with one foot on the brass rail, an elbow on the perfectly burnished mahogany surface. Here, a margarita begins with squeezing fresh limes. Classic cocktails, like a Rob Roy or a Manhattan, seem just right in this context, but so does a glass of wine or champagne, or a beautiful glass filled with ice, served with two shots of vodka. Your brand is always in the house.

There are mementos on the bar wall. Your racing colors and a picture of your horse winning the Kentucky Derby, a favorite temple in Angkor Wat, or your grandfather receiving an Oscar. The dining room is a seductive shade somewhere between Etruscan red and a ripe tomato. Candlelight and antler chandeliers provide a soft ambience, but enough light for you to read the menu. There are banquettes and six large round tables: white napery, oversized dinner napkins and silver cutlery that feels good to hold.

Caribou cuisine is what you want to eat most nights: well seasoned and simple. The top-notch Caribou kitchen serves modern American cuisine with just the right amount of international zing. Whiskey-glazed filet of beef, roasted rack of lamb with fresh herbs, Thai chile relleno Bangkok, and Dover sole in buerre blanc. Farm-fresh vegetables, the best caviar and smoked fish. Desserts are very American, although you might want fraises des bois and crème fraîche-a memory of Provence in summer. The sorbets are exquisitely fresh, made with the sweetest fruit, crushed, chilled but barely frozen. A lemon sorbet will be lemony enough to make your lips pucker. Simple cakes you loved in childhood: pound cake, Paonia peach cobbler covered with a bittersweet chocolate sauce. The waiter might persuade you to have a small piece of tart, fresh berries, a dollop of sorbet-all on the same plate. There's coffee after dessert-in any room you like-and Armagnacs, et al. after coffee. You can dine on the early side or sup as late as midnight.

Then you might sink into small cozy divans - with or without your Armagnac - in the disco. The Caribou disco isn't gaudy or loud. It's intimate and sexy. Ipanema, Sinatra, and Aznavour. Things get jazzier as it gets later, when shafts of light transform the room into a warm tropical night. That's when things heat up.

Probably one of the nicest things about the Caribou is that you can drop in just to say hello. Or have some champagne, or rendezvous with a chum. Or spend the entire evening. After all, you belong.