And when it comes to food, the basics are really all the Stork Club needs; on one visit, we’re the only ones eating. When it comes to drink, a little more effort is called for from a place named after a legendary nightspot opened by a bootlegger in the middle of Prohibition. There ought to be a list of retro signature cocktails and classic drinks, but there’s no cocktail list at all. (One is in the works, and there are signature drinks such as a whiskey smash and a Stork martini, though no one mentioned them to us.) The bartending should be stronger: a sidecar and a Tom Collins are both watery, unbalanced, poorly proportioned concoctions. Red wine is served far too warm; the Jim Jim “Barkers White,’’ a verdelho-viognier blend, is on the simple side but at least refreshingly chilled.
Also refreshing: crowds of people over 30 present late on a weeknight, just hanging out. There are friends of the band here, too, standing close and listening with drinks in their hands. Pretty young things lounge on the banquette, and an older black couple arrives for dinner. It approaches a Bob’s-like feeling. On a weekend, it’s not quite as welcoming; an employee with a clicker stands out front, preventing several parties from entering. After a while, he lets them in, though it appears no one has left. What’s that about?
Never mind. Inside, the band is playing. You come to the Stork Club for the music, and you stay for the music. And if you eat while you’re here, that’s fine, too.
Devra First can be reached at dfirst@globe.com.