Once upon a time, this was my favorite restaurant.
It's still there, a fixture on far West 51st Street, although the cheerful fat Madame who ran it with an iron fist is long gone; she was a marvel at bullying the elderly French waitresses and making sure the carafes of destitute young parties were magically refilled, often, it seemed, at the expense of the rushed theatregoers who abandoned, half-finished, their Îles Flottantes at 7:54.
We stayed on, sometimes until intermission (a great way to see at least the second half of shows) and sometimes until one or another of us had someplace to go and sing. Or wait table. Or both.
I took Mr. Muscato there last summer. It wasn't the same, of course, but it was wonderful. And we finished our Îles Flottantes.