Pray to the Tiki god as your libation wends its way atop a tray towards your table. You’re in the odd time capsule that is Trader Vic’s. You’re in the zone. Are those marimba notes and bird calls from a Martin Denny record? It’s 1956 and your mortgage is only $90 a month and the Banlon shirt you’re wearing is a modern miracle.
Dig into one of Vic’s mouthwatering specialties from wood fired ovens such as Indonesian Rack of Lamb, Miso marinated Sea bass, Chai Tea smoked duck breast. It’s all over too soon and you’re standing there in the evening chill with a valet parking stub in your hand.
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