Meh.

As usual, the food was good enough. But the restaurant resonated with all the heft of a neighborhood diner. Japanese businessmen at one table made a lot of noise; and at a table nearby some older folks with heavy Southern accents held their own boisterous court. Scattered about the Danny Meyer institution were quiet duos, trios and singles, eating and sipping.

Nothing spectacular, and, except for the bar, it wasn't too crowded. We three got a table within five minutes.

Popular, yes? But most popular? Maybe we came on the wrong day.