Restaurant review, Bring An Umbrella—But Not Your Appetite—to Ken & Cook.

Saturday night in Nolita and the elderflower wine spritzers go down like spa water after a massage—hydrating the body, curbing the appetite. Women sing greetings of "Oh, my God, you look sooo good," and bros impress the knickers off their dates with $100 platters of seafood from the raw bar. The host is all smiles but knows to keep the comfy booths against the wall empty all evening, just in case someone important shows up with an entourage.
Ken & Cook's decor is faux brasserie: light tiles, dark banquettes, the windows open to Kenmare Street. On hot days like this one, the HVAC system that snakes its way along the ceiling dribbles sweat like the last guy standing on the dancefloor, and it's someone's job to reach up with a rag on a stick and catch the droplets before they fall.

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