The End of Dining

Down the long elegant candlelit years since Le Pavilion opened in Manhattan in 1941, even the most jaded of gourmets have agreed that there was no restaurant in the U.S. quite like it. Founded in the finest French tradition by Master Restaurateur Henri Soule, Le Pavilion immediately established itself as the very best of a small but choice selection of places in which it was as gratifying to be seen as it was to be served the splendid fare. No detail was unimportant to Soule. He used only Baccarat crystal, for instance, and seated guests as carefully as he selected the choice ingredients for their meals, diplomatically segregating society figures from businessmen.

Pavilion long maintained its eminence with seeming effortlessness. But when Soule died in 1966, standards slowly began to slip. In 1968 Stuart Levin, a graduate of the flossy Four Seasons, took over as president just in time to face more problems. The recession and the trend toward more informal dining, combined with Levin's reluctance to lower the restaurant's standards, took their toll. Last week, almost simultaneously with the opening of a brash new competitor named Jimmy's, Pavilion closed its doors.

Was it a trend, as Manhattan tastemakers were quick to conclude? Perhaps. Levin was fond of describing his restaurant as "a place where people come to dine, not to eat." With a trace of scorn, he notes that people today are merely eating. Soule had a following that included a host's delight of the wealthy and famous. Levin tried to build a new, younger clientele, without much luck.

Pavilion's closing is the latest in a palate-deadening series. The past two years have seen the closing of several notable Manhattan restaurants. A tasty collection of classic cuisine restaurants (many of them run or staffed by Pavilion graduates) still survive in Manhattan: La Cote Basque, La Caravelle, La Grenouille. Most, however, are caught in the same cost-price squeeze that forced Pavilion to close. Pavilion's dedication to excellence, for example, dictated a kitchen staff of 30 to 40 and about that number working the floor: an average of one employee per four meals. Many newer restaurants, stressing simpler menus and service, have cut that ratio: at Jimmy's, the employee-meal ratio works out to 1 to 8.

Jimmy's, in fact, is a different sort of world, and Co-Owner Sid Davidoff is the first to admit it. "Pavilion we're not," he says. Jimmy's menu is in keeping with the clientele the restaurant was designed to attract: steaks, chops and seafood for the New York politicians, writers and celebrities who jammed its ample premises (once occupied by Toots Shor's) on opening night last week. As the cop outside put it that evening: "We have the immediate world here." No small assets are the connections Davidoff and Partner Richard Aurelio made during their long service as top aides to Mayor John Lindsay.

Jimmy's ambience is best described by Aurelio, who calls it "early smoke-filled room." Green-shaded lamps hang low over each table, and lights are kept dim. The food is palatable but unpretentious, and informality is the rule --jackets are unnecessary. Jimmy's easiness in fact stands in strong contrast to the formality of Pavilion--where Pavilion provided tasteful little bouquets for its tables, Jimmy's offers crackers and cheese.

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