Peggy had never seen anything like it! The tremendous, high-ceilinged rooms paneled in darkly polished brown wood led in a seemingly endless procession from one to the other, connected by arch after arch. In front of them, across the first room, four steps mounted up to a kind of gallery, itself an immense chamber that stretched back as far as one could see. In the front of the gallery, near the steps, a small, three-piece orchestra played Viennese waltz music. Peggy noted with amusement that the three musicians looked as old as the restaurant, almost as if they had been playing ever since opening night.
To the right, an oversized archway connected the room they were in with what appeared to be the central room of the place, even higher and more glittering than the others. Peggy’s eyes mounted up toward the ceiling, which appeared to be three or more stories high, and she saw that it was a kind of old-fashioned leaded glass skylight.
Another arch between the rooms contained the largest ship model that she had ever seen. It was a full-rigged ship and stood easily six feet high. Everything here was on such a large scale! Even the beer steins that stood all around on shelves high on the paneled walls were immense. Some would easily hold two quarts of beer.
Everywhere were waiters scurrying about between the crowded tables, carrying trays loaded to improbable heights with dishes, glasses, covered serving vessels, baskets of bread, rolls, and cheeses. The whole place glittered with hundreds of lights, each caught and reflected in the tall mirrors, the glassware and the polished wood.
And the noise! The many conversations, the clink of silver on dishes, the rattle of glasses, the waltz tunes of the small orchestra, all blended into one happy, congenial roar.
Peggy and Amy stood dazzled by the sights and sounds of Luchow’s, and tried to get their bearings, while Randy and Mal checked their reservations with the headwaiter. Soon they were assigned by this impressive personage to a lesser headwaiter whom Peggy thought of as their guide. This gentleman, beckoning them to follow, plunged into the jungle of tables and, in a kind of safari fashion, they tracked him through several rooms, up some steps to a gallery like the one on which the band was playing, and to a large round table by the rail.
It was not until they were seated that Peggy realized that there was not an endless number of rooms, but only about six. The illusion was caused by giant mirrors on either wall, set in arched frames like the arches that separated the rooms. Even so, it was the biggest and busiest restaurant that either she or Amy had ever seen.
“Well, what do you think of it?” Randy asked. When Peggy replied with a smile and a bewildered shake of her head, he continued, “I know. It always affects me that way, too, but I still love to come here. This is what New York was really like in the Gay Nineties, and they haven’t changed a thing that they didn’t have to change. Even the lighting fixtures,” he pointed out, “are the original gaslights, except that they’ve had to wire them for electricity. But the best thing is—as it should be—the food. That hasn’t changed either. Let’s order now, then we can talk.”
The menu, Peggy thought, was of a size to match the restaurant, and it was crammed with dishes she had never heard of, most with German names, many with British names. At Randy’s suggestion, she let him order her dinner, which was sauerbraten, the house specialty. Amy, less adventurous about food, settled for roast beef. Randy ordered a lobster for himself, and Mal asked for roast larded saddle of hare, which made Amy shudder a little.
“I just don’t like the idea of eating rabbits,” she explained. “They’re such cute little things!”