What It's Like Dining At Louis Vuitton's New Café

When the human mind in 2024 perceives something uncannily perfect — like a building wrapped to resemble a stack of Louis Vuitton trunks or a club sandwich immaculately manicured into the shape of a four-leaf clover — the standard response is “that must be AI.” But in the case of the new café at Louis Vuitton’s temporary store at 6 E. 57th St., the house’s famous precision and high craftsmanship are tempered with a warmly accessible atmosphere.

Located on the fourth floor, the temple of “luxury snacking” is lined with wall-to-wall books and sumptuously upholstered seating that really cushions the derriere — I should know, given that I stayed for the equivalent of a Parisian-length lunch at a preview event on Nov. 14. The main dining room took on the feeling of an aviary from which one could see all as guests ascended from the shiny, thumping retail floors below to do brisk business at the first U.S. location of Chocolat Maxime Frédéric, then take a load off with a glass of Champagne or a coconut cosmo. Under the many luggage tags hanging from the ceiling like a high-class wish tree and the mustachioed glower of Matty Matheson’s cookbook cover, I spooned beef tartare from organically shaped glass bowls and used a branded cloth napkin to mop up leaky sauce from the aforementioned club sandwich, cut into individual petals for the occasion. (The culinary team, led by chefs Arnaud Donckele and Mary George, outdid themselves by offering what seemed to be different hors d'oeuvres on every level; my best bite of the evening was a miniature croissant stuffed with caviar.)

Midway through my fourth sixth Le Club, whose pressed bread crunched like nothing so much as a pizzelle, a flutter of lights and cameras materialized, followed by Martha Stewart, who was herded to the reading alcove. “I love her,” sighed one of the Upper East Side doyennes sharing our table. Ana de Armas, in a mirrored mini, passed next, which is when we finally realized we were occupying prime real estate. (That and the nice server stationed directly in front who kept plying us with Champagne without being asked.) Law Roach, on his own way to the library photo op, threw out a friendly “Hi, baby” when my friend called out his name.

Sensing that the hour of departure had arrived, we each took a mousse-y cube stuck onto squares of short pastry from the tiered trays that had been background actors to Martha earlier and made the long reverse journey down. Could I imagine doing the same after a long day of boosting the economy? Fiscal limitations aside, yes — because a post-shopping treat, whether a cup of pretzel dogs or a Damier tartlet, is part of the fun.