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Groucho comes to ‘21’

One evening in early winter of 1975, I was sitting upstairs in the dining room at ‘21’, enjoying the company of several out of town clients. Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity marked by a small but apparently familiar group arriving for dinner. With that, the adjacent table was blessed with, among others, the unmistakable presence of a certain Groucho Marx. After the usual pleasantries etc. Groucho started in on the menu. He appeared slightly flustered and began delivering assorted comments about the Sunset Salad, Chicken Hash and a variety of other traditional items on the menu that did not appear to be of his liking that particular evening.

The waiter approached and with a sudden change of attitude, Groucho asked him if he had frogs’ legs.  The waiter replied that of course they had frogs’ legs. Groucho took a pause and then looked at the waiter again. He took a shallow breathe and indicated that the waiter did not seem to understand his question. The waiter couldn’t figure out what the problem could be and restated his original response that, in fact, ‘21’ could find an order of frogs’ legs in the kitchen for Groucho. With his signature smirk and slouch, he looked at the poor waiter and indicated that he didn’t think he had to go that far to get the frogs’ legs.  With that, Groucho asked the waiter to come a bit closer. He pointed at the waiter’s trousers saying that he wanted to know if the waiter had frogs’ legs. The waiter continued to be overly proper yet quite dumbfounded. With that Groucho leaned over, grabbed the cuffs of the waiter’s trousers, raised them to his calf and stated that the waiter appeared to have frogs’ legs although they were the first set he had ever seen with garters attached. By this time, the majority of the tables in the room were being thoroughly entertained.  Finally, even the waiter cracked a smile. Needless to say, and true to form, Groucho loved an audience and he certainly had one that evening.

Peter B. Dott

Does consummating a pseudo-marital event on the banquette along the west wall qualify? The girl was Academy Awardee Joan Fontaine of “Rebecca” and “Suspicion” fame. But from that day at lunch 30 years ago, Joan Fontaine would be Joan Lebenthal. Let me explain. Do you remember the Lebenthal municipal bond ad campaign in which celebrities changed their last name to Lebenthal? Joan was the first to splash it across the business pages of the New York Times, “I’m Joan Lebenthal. You may know me as Joan Fontaine, but to Lebenthal I’m one of the family.” Nobody in Hollywood quite caught on that the ad was about treating the customer like family and not just an overblown social note . But Joan decided that if she was going to be mistaken for Joan Lebenthal, and I her fourth husband, we’d better learn how to use a knife and fork, and off we went to ‘21.’ “Darling, you are to think of ‘21’ from now on as our club. Now try to keep the martini in the glass.” My hand still shakes with excitement. And I live in a delusion of grandeur. I think I’m Jim Lebenthal. But I’m seated like Mister Fontaine.

Jim Lebenthal

While I can’t say I am one of those generational regulars `21’ has been serving since the 1930s,it was with a great deal of paternal pride that I took my two sons to the restaurant the first time. My older son was of drinking age, my younger son not quite (at least by NY State standards), and they dressed well for the occasion, escorting their mother through the iron gates and bronze doors to be greeted by Oreste Carnevale like young royalty. Dazzled by the corporate toys on the ceiling and ravenous for the basket of bread, the bay scallops, the Dover sole, the pommes soufflées, and the venison we were served, they ate like veterans and took in everything around them in the whirl of guests arriving and departing, the captains and waiters pivoting between tables, and the trip down to the secret wine cellar. By the end of the evening, they were as smitten by the same wonderful idiosyncrasies and eccentricities of the place as I had been at their age. Years later, just last week, I mentioned `21’ to my older son, and he smiled and said, “I love that place! I haven’t been back there for a while,” spoken as if he’d been prodigal in not being more a regular, giddy with the thought of returning.

John Mariani

It has been close to 50 years since I had my first lunch at ‘21’. I was a guest of my boss, a very colorful p.r. genius who patiently explained to me the nuances of why we had the best table in the house despite the fact it was smack by the kitchen door. Over the ensuing years I estimate I've been there 500 times, celebrating a birth or engagement, discussing business, mourning a loss, wooing a dame or just laughing with pals. I've often drank too many fine bottles of wine and always eaten very well at ‘21’. I've been hugged and welcomed by Pete, Sheldon, and Jerry (always "Mr. Peter," "Mr. Sheldon," and "Mr. Jerry"), and Bruce and always treated like a returning prince. There has not been one time I did not feel honored to enter ‘21’ as those doors were swung open for me. And I cannot remember any time I did not leave ‘21’ feeling much better because of it.

Bill Tomicki

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