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That memory returned to me as I sat in the Cigar Box & Bistro one Saturday night, dipping an ice-cold shrimp into cocktail sauce and watching two suburban couples settle into the comfortable chairs and sofas in the lounge area to the left of my table. The group had made a stop at the glass-walled humidor room just off the entrance to this dark, narrow dining room, where they had purchased three cigars from a selection of more than 60 varieties neatly displayed in their boxes in this closet-size room. The two gentlemen each took one, sat back in their chairs, and immediately lit up, leaving one for the lady in a baby blue cotton dress with festive appliqués. She at first awkwardly maneuvered the long cigar, but she was game and, before long, happily puffed away just like Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde.
I don't know what I expected when I made my reservation to dine at the Cigar Box, but the downtown restaurant is unlike any other dining establishment in the city. It's one part old-fashioned saloon, one part intimate steakhouse, one part clubhouse for people who like to smoke.
To my surprise, a couple of my friends refused to join me for dinner at the Cigar Box because the name scared them off: "Doesn't it reek of cigar smoke?" asked one friend. "The smell of cigars makes me lose my appetite."
It was their loss. The dining room doesn't smell smoky at all, even though heavy glass ashtrays sit on every table. But there are fresh, dewy roses in glass vases too. And although I haven't had a cigar in years, I was longing for one by the time I finished dinner and the restaurant's featured singer, Al Latta, turned on his karaoke-style background music machine and launched into "Luck Be a Lady Tonight." Yes, by modern restaurant standards, the Cigar Box may seem politically incorrect -- not only because of the smoking, but also because the place is unabashedly masculine. The hostess and waitresses are all young and beautiful. And from my table, I could watch the statuesque bartender, a dead ringer for 1960s TV star Julie Newmar, shaking martinis into chilled glasses at a long, mirrored bar decorated with a painting of a naked woman, in profile, puffing on a stogie.
Don't get me wrong, it's not a joint, nor is it remotely racy, even though it's located next to the popular showgirl club Ziegfield's. I would even say that the Cigar Box has a kind of offbeat elegance about it. The service is gracious; the ambience is even a shade formal. It's the kind of dark, cozy dining room my parents would have loved -- a place where diners relax, starting out with a good stiff cocktail and maybe an antipasto plate (Italian ham, salami, capocollo, and pepperoni with cheeses, olives, roasted red peppers, and chilled shrimp; $9.95) or grilled eggplant stuffed with ricotta cheese and spinach ($5.95).
The place is so dimly lit I had to borrow a little flashlight from my waitress to see the menu, which is primarily Italian in offerings, with garlicky pasta and chicken dishes alongside the grilled steaks and fish. I decided to try an appetizer from my youth -- a cold shrimp cocktail ($6.95) -- just as six teenagers, all decked out in their prom formals, arrived and were escorted to a back table. Fresh-faced and glowing, the girls wore long dresses and flamboyant corsages and the boys, each with military-issue crew cuts, matching tuxedos. They were the fanciest-dressed customers in the place that night; the rest of the tables were filled with couples in rather ordinary pantsuits, jeans, Sans-A-Belt slacks, and cotton shirts.
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