Keens opened in 1885 as a chophouse for the theater and publishing crowd, and its ceiling still holds ninety thousand clay churchwarden pipes once smoked by regulars — Babe Ruth, Teddy Roosevelt, and Albert Einstein among them. It is the last survivor of old Herald Square, and walking in feels like entering the city's collective memory.
The legendary mutton chop — in truth a colossal saddle of lamb — is the dish that pilgrimage demands, though the porterhouse and prime rib hold their own. Start in the pub room with a single malt from a scotch list several hundred bottles deep. Book ahead; a century and a half of reputation keeps the dining rooms full.
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