The first time I went to Florent was the fall of 2001 with co-workers. From the second I stepped through the door, I was sold. Duke Ellington was playing over the quiet murmurs of the sparse late-night week crowd. It seemed to lack any pretense. It felt like a gutsy establishment – who would put a French Diner in the middle of a meat packing district?

I loved the diner-like atmoshere with the shiny silver walls decorated with maps of Europe.I loved the wine selection and have fond memories of trying my first Argentinian Malbec. I loved the bread that came with each meals and loved soaking up the greasy aftermath of my meal with it.

Going there seemed like a trip to another city or time. Back in 2001 the
neighborhood was fairly inactive. Having to pass J’s Hangout or the Lure (two lascivious gay bars, now defunct) to get there made the excurion seem all the more exciting. When traveling at night, it felt like film noir. The meat packing district has a more priggish air to it now, to which I thought Florent was invincible.

What I’ll remember most about Florent is that it was the first New York establishment with which I fell in love. It satisfied my stomach and it captured my soul.