I’ve been slowly checking off my NYC bucket list since moving here from Texas six years ago. Hot dogs in Coney Island. The Statue of Liberty. A Broadway show. You know, those classic New Yorky things tourists blow through in a week but require residents a full decade to get around to. Well, I made some progress recently. I wined and dined like an ’80s hedge fund shark at Peak with Priceless. I did the whole shebang—ribeyes and Napa cab, caviar and crudo, enough cocktails to provision an entire bachelorette party, and, best of all, a window-side table over 1,200 feet above Manhattan
The Great Gig in the Sky
Johnny Motley / Peak with Priceless
On the 101st floor of 30 Hudson Yards, Peak sits directly above Edge, one of Manhattan’s most iconic observation deck. In 2024, it became Peak with Priceless through a partnership with Mastercard, whose cardholders get access to preferred reservations and tables with the best views. The fare is what you’d expect in a dining room facing the crown of the Empire State Building—Wagyu tartare, Maine lobster, steak with black-truffle sauce. Is it touristy? You betcha. But so what? The Sistine Chapel is touristy.
I went with my pal David, a former colleague from my ill-starred career teaching high school English in Manhattan. The finest chemistry teacher since Walter White, David works hard to form young minds, provide for his family, and, in marked contrast to the author, make himself generally useful to society. I figured he could use a big night on the town before the school year started.
In the elevator to the stratosphere, we watched a cinematic homage to New York City by Montreal multimedia studio Moment Factory. After greeting the hostess, we did what every guest must do: stood in awe before the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a rainy night, and Manhattan’s towers and the ships on the Hudson twinkled through the mist. “Maximus, I did not know men could build such things,” I told David solemnly. He reminded me that I was permitted one Gladiator quote per hang.
We settled into our 21 Questions cocktails—a boozy little off-menu ditty invented by 50 Cent, a regular—before lustily eyeballing the leather-bound lists of luxurious viands. A raw bar fit for Neptune’s very banquet table! Aged porterhouses worthy of a Texas tycoon! Boards heaped with charcuterie! And, good God, the pasta! I looked from the Chrysler Building back to David with the gravitas of Gordon Gekko preparing a hostile takeover. “Brother, let’s go ham on this baby.” Fittingly, we started with Culatello ham with biscuits and peach jam. A seafood tower while atop a tower seemed non-negotiable. The gleaming silver salver arrived piled with king crab legs, bowls of crudo, oysters, and shrimp.
We went halfsies on a surf ’n’ turf duo of entrées: the porterhouse with Vidalia onion rings and bordelaise sauce, and the halibut—the sea’s equivalent of a luxury steak. As we carved the meat off the bone, those crispy little onion rings soaked up the jus. If God made anything better, He saved it for himself. The fish, garnished with chanterelles and bacon, was almost as rich as the marbled beef.
David is a clean-living sportsman—he never skips a morning workout, rarely drinks, and only sniffs glue on special occasions. He almost always abstains from dessert, but even such a health nut couldn’t pass up almond sponge cake and a bowl of ice cream after this glorious repast. I insisted on the aged cheese plate as well, citing the French gastronome Brillat-Savarin: “A dessert without cheese is like a beautiful woman missing an eye.”
I asked the waiter to box up the porterhouse bone, and we went down to Edge with our umbrellas to admire the views al fresco. “Jesus, dude, do you do this kinda thing every week?” David asked. “Yep, just about.” He grew quiet for a moment. “Do you think you’ll make it to forty?”