Vermilion Club

There are plenty of restaurants Downtown where you can take someone for a business lunch or dinner, and most of them are fine. But if you want to get a deal done, or have a quiet conversation, the Vermilion Club is the place to do it and get some amazing food in your belly at the same time. Set above the lobby of an office building, inside you’ll find a giant orange Chihuly sculpture over the bar—your first clue that this meal isn’t going to be cheap. There’s a hushed atmosphere, along with dark booths on one end and sunlit tables center stage in front of massive windows. The menu is accessible, with a number of steaks prepared natural or Montreal spiced (go with the latter). The most interesting dishes, however, are on the market and appetizer sections, where you’ll find unexpected surprises like french onion dumplings flecked with truffles and a teapot pour of shiitake consommé tableside.

Food Rundown

photo credit: Nitzan Keynan

Veal Chop Pizzaiola

This is one of the best things we’ve eaten this year, and we eat an obscene amount of food. The massive veal chop is pounded into a tender slab, covered in breadcrumbs, and fried to peak crispiness. Less ambitious kitchens might consider the play between tender meat and fried crunch enough, but Vermilion Club takes it further with sweet marinara, cheese, and pepperoni. It’s essentially a pizza with veal crust, and you want to be eating it.

photo credit: Nitzan Keynan

Olive Oil Tater Tots

If you’re going to get one side, this is where you should land. Crunchy golden squares stacked Tetris-like, the soft potato goodness inside is whipped with high-quality olive oil, making the tots so melty and flavorful you won’t dream of asking for ketchup.

The Caesar

The fish on this salad are anchovies for people who say they don’t like anchovies. The mustard marinade cuts the briny fish flavor and softens the texture perfectly. And while we’re tired of everything bagel spice on everything, it works on the crumbly croutons. We also love the parmesan dressing (in lieu of shaved chunks) because the cheese-to-lettuce ratio approaches divine proportion status.