AA Gill in The Sunday Times

The great London restaurant that was my father's favourite, and the abiding lunch spot for journalists, has transferred to the city that in many ways inspired it. The Caprice in London was a template restaurant, with its black-and-white decor, the famous fishcake and the simple idea of getting dessert, coffee and the bill all at the same time originating here. The New York version is in the Pierre hotel, at the bottom of Central Park. Inside, it’s recognisably the swanky cousin of the original: it’s black and white, there are David Bailey photos of Jean Shrimpton on the wall, the manager is our own Sebastian and I recognised a couple of waiters, and the menu looks the same, as does the table furniture. This is all stuff you want to eat: fishcakes, bang bang chicken, and the fish and chips, made with New England cod, was better than most you’d get back in Blighty. I had a strip steak, one of my favourite cuts, and a native to New York. It was sublime: well aged, hung and cut on the bone, as fatty as a Michaelmas goose, as tasty as a pant party. There is a whole nine yards to be written about steak — American versus British, Latin American, Australian, Botswanan — but it’ll keep.

Read the full review here.