While it's easy to be intrigued by Uptown's gentility, full immersion can lead to horrific consequences, e.g., a sudden interest in Sunday matinees, and a crippling addiction to miniature toasts. For refinement without AARPment, hit Dovetail, open Tuesday.
Chef-owned by a 31-year-old French Laundry vet, DT merges elegant trappings (vestigial stone archway, satin curtains, etc), with modern'd-up, steel-and-wood furniture and jeans-friendly service -- as if the kid's table collided with Masterpiece Theater. The grub's classic French, but it's spiced up with high and low American influences, from olive-oil tater tots and appetizer-style skate wings to pike quenelles w/ gratin of lobster thermador (from the Greek "thermos", but sadly not sluicing with tepid Spaghetti-Os). Alcohol-wise, the main attraction's 25 dowager-friendly, never-before-imported sherries, some cloistered in an underground cellar, others casually presented in glass-doored fridges -- like your bodega's, w/o the discomfiting presence of Mountain Dew Red Alert Rape (or "Grape", if you're not feeling Xtreme).
DT's also offering $38, 3-course Sunday prix fixe dinner -- because what's more gentile than eating like a king, while remaining flush enough to spring for a sleeve of tiny but sublime toasts.