The Fancy Restaurant Club had its monthly gathering at the Carmine’s off Times Square tonight and it was O.K. but it’s another joint I’ve been to before. In honor of having been the first of the Club to buy and bring along the just-published Zagat 2007 New York City Restaurants, I was persuaded to choose next month’s restaurant.

I like some of celebrity chef Danny Meyer’s restaurants, especially Blue Smoke and the Shake Shack (others, less so), so I selected new Zagat entrant and 16th most-popular restaurant in New York City, The Modern. I’ve been to the casual side of the Modern before; it’s called the Bar Room and it’s fancy, but compared to the Modern proper (known as the Dining Room), it’s supposedly like eating at the kids’ table.

I was hesitant in my decision, but the sign arrived that I’d made the correct one when on my ride home late on the A train, the woman in the seat directly across from me was reading Setting the Table: The Transforming Power of Hospitality in Business, Danny Meyer’s new book. This was hard to miss because she was reading it like she really wanted everyone on the train to know she was reading it. Somehow she was single-handedly holding the weighty hardcover raised to her face, the cover splayed so I was looking into the PhotoShopPhotoshop-smoothed face of Danny, his elbow resting rakishly on a tabletop draped with white linen, as if to say, “Come, bask in my dining experience, Fancy Restaurant Club.”

The Fancy Restaurant Club met at a place tonight I’d already eaten at twice, the Rosa Mexicano across the street from Lincoln Center, and I feared the magic might be gone. But the food was excellent as usual and do you know who was sitting a few tables over from us, embedded in a large entourage? Janet Jackson.

I can tell you she’s very short, divalike and sports a ponytail the size of a firelog. We heard-tell she was in the area shooting a segment for BET and we definitely noticed she changed her clothes in the restaurant’s restroom, which wasn’t all that unusual until you consider:

1. Two men, each the approximate size of a phone booth, were stationed at the door and wouldn’t let anyone in until she exited.
2. It was the men’s room.

Janet was in there awhile and a long line of guys formed outside, guys likely becoming less and less impressed (if they ever were) that it was Janet Jackson impeding their pee, even with the chance she would improve the smell in the stalls by her perfumed presence. As for the Club, we were not even clear why Janet was at Rosa Mexicano to begin with.

Don’t get me wrong: the place is fancy and we are not called the Fancy Restaurant Club for nothing. It’s also ranked among the Zagat Survey’s top-20 most-popular restaurants this year, although it’s not necessarily celebrity popular. In other words, real people such as you and I eat there, the service is prompt and polite, there isn’t a month-long waiting list, the chef isn’t a loudmouthed penis, and the entrees are very reasonably priced for the neighborhood.

Perhaps Janet was there on a multi-restaurant tour to fuel gossip and gain celeb-sighting column-inches in order to inspire mentions of her album 20 Y.O., available in stores nationwide tomorrow. Look for Janet to appear suddenly at an Olive Garden near you. Don’t take any guff from her bodyguards.

To avoid hassles with the public and the paparazzi, the Fancy Restaurant Club is loath to reveal the site of its outings too far in advance. Our resident calligrapher and messenger, Amanzio, has taken to writing the upcoming restaurant’s name on ornamental scrolls or small colored cards that he secrets away in the city, along with a series of cunning clues hidden elsewhere to lead the way. To learn the location of tonight’s outing, I was required to learn phonetic Belarusian, infiltrate the abandoned subway station at 91st Street, and at last, scale the locked gate of Gramercy Park late one humid night last week, to pluck a cream colored card from the hand of the Edwin Booth statue. In Amanzio’s steady script and iron-gall ink was written “Union Square Cafe.”

If only the end had justified the means. For starters, there’s no flair in the décor there. The upholstery pattern of our booth seating, for example, was blocky and grey, like from an Applebee’s. In an especially meta-moment, we consulted my travel copy of the Zagat Survey for next month’s outing, while hanging on the wall above our table was a cheesy Matisse-ish painting depicting a bottle of wine, a table set for dinner and a 1997 copy of Zagat’s. Was this a clever reference to Union Square Cafe’s vote mongering among the local food fanatics? This year, the guidebook ranked it the second most-popular restaurant in New York City. We were ready to be blown away, but we were only touched by a light breeze. Literally! The air conditioning wasn’t running full-throttle in our cozy corner, so the lady of the table waved a dainty paper fan from her purse.

Our meals were adequate and only our appetizers creative. The black bean soup ordered by one was hearty, served with a slice of lemon and an optional pour of Australian sherry. Me and my sweet tooth enjoyed the stone fruit salad of mixed wild greens, fresh peaches, black cherries and candied pecans, drizzled with a white balsamic vinaigrette and sprinkled with savory shavings of Manchego cheese. As a sometimes-cook, dishes like this make me smack my forehead and wonder why I can’t dream up combinations this fresh and exciting. They seem so obvious upon reflection.

As for main dishes, my shell steak was all right, though a tad too smokehousy and salty, even if I wouldn’t have shaken salt on it before a taste. Other entrées served at our table included salmon and scallops, and they were deemed O.K., but nothing to make us tumble from our seats.

Desserts were presented attractively. A peach tart was flaky but not as perky tasting as it should have been. The chocolate fudge cake was incredibly moist yet firm. Perfectly smooth scoops of sorbet, the size and shape of eggs, nestled in miniature ceramic cups by flavor. The lemon variety had the harsh, super-sweet flavor of eating Minute Maid frozen lemonade concentrate directly from the cardboard can.

The popularity of the Union Square Cafe mystifies me. Part of me wants to admit the experience doesn’t differ greatly from Craft, but while the Craft entrées are also prototypical “New American” dishes, they’re prepared and seasoned more attentively. And the atmosphere at Craft is darker, richer and more luxuriant without being smarmy. Union Square Cafe must be doing something extraordinary for a large segment of the Zagat-voting public. Maybe there’s a special room in the sub-basement where the food and atmosphere are peerless.

Union Square Cafe

• 21 E. 16th St. (between Fifth Avenue and Union Square West)
• (212) 243-4020
• Meal 26 of 52: summer stone fruit salad ($12) and grilled smoked Cedar River shell steak with mashed potatoes and frizzled leeks ($32).

I’ve been granted temporary membership to the Fancy Restaurant Club, a hallowed and exclusive New York society deemed secret up until the point I started writing this sentence.

The Fancy Restaurant Club meets the last Monday of each month for dinner at a New York restaurant rated among the Zagat Survey’s top-25 or so for the current calendar year. This means costly and luxuriously long meals, which I’m not typically big on. But when I realized membership would spur activity and quality within the languishing 52 Meals Project, I filled out my application and secured my sponsor. That was in December. Since then I’d been awaiting the day I would be tapped to join, watching as I missed out on Club outings at the likes of Babbo and the Gotham Bar and Grill.

Because of club bylaws, I can’t divulge who else is a member without risking the revocation of my club card and commemorative lapel pin. Would it surprise you to learn that six U.S. presidents, two secretaries of state and Eli Whitney, inventor of the cotton gin, have at one time been members of the Fancy Restaurant Club? This much I can tell you for certain: it’s a tight-knit group of at least one saucy lady, several dapper men-about-town, and now myself. It’s a lot like the Algonquin Round Table; we too aim to change the nature of American comedy and establish the tastes of a new artistic era, one cocktail at a time. But mostly—if I may speak for the group—we savor good food presented attractively and attentively within an atmosphere of good company and conversation.

The Club’s choice tonight fit the bill: dinner at Craft, the flagship restaurant in chef/owner Tom Colicchio’s Craft portfolio, which also includes a steakhouse, a few sandwich and baked goods outposts, and a less-formal version of Craft; he also owns the storied Gramercy Tavern.

Craft is a cozy place. Thick, smooth-paneled wooden tables are topped with individual placemats instead of a tablecloth. The lighting is dim, provided by clear light bulbs, filaments aglow, strung hanging down from the ceiling in grids. The servers, decked out in checked shirts and striped ties, were helpful explaining dishes, flavors and unfamiliar French phrases, and promptly cleared dishes, refilled water glasses and refolded napkins.

I started with the Craft cocktail, made with a Champagne-like alcohol and fresh diced rhubarb, which made for a strange yet pleasingly tart summertime taste. The menu specializes in smaller portions of artfully adorned and presented comfort foods. Sharing dishes is encouraged, so we started with a cold beet salad, colorful from the other chopped root vegetables that were blended in. We also ordered the foie gras, which I avoided, as I generally make it a point not to eat internal organs that filter toxins and secrete bile. I did try a bit of pâté that was served as a between-course palate-cleanser; it was salty, buttery and topped with what I believe was a wine reduction. These interspersed treats were strange but welcome; another one was little shot glasses of ginger ale mixed with strawberry juice and the closing treat was a batch of warm caramel corn.

Side dishes included sautéed sugar snap peas, roasted wild mushrooms and potatoes au gratin, and for our main courses, we feasted upon Scottish salmon, roasted organic chicken (served in a small iron pot), prawns and Maine diver scallops.

The four entrees we ordered were basic and not seasoned excitingly, but were well-prepared, textbook examples of each dish. I’m leery of scallops because they’re often rubbery or tasteless, but Craft’s were large, fresh-tasting and done perfectly. The salmon flaked at the touch of a fork and the chicken, although still a bit pink, was tender and delicious. Craft’s menu is large enough to attract diners back if only to try different dishes; also, it would seem the selections change often, because the restaurant prints new menus daily. On a repeat visit I’d want to sample some of the more semi-exotic main dishes, like the braised duck, John Dory (an Australian fish) or quail. I’d enjoy watching someone else eat sweetbreads, as I feel the same way about thymus glands and pancreas as I do livers.

For dessert, I had a sweetly rich lemon créme brûlèe and to drink, espresso, although I very nearly ordered a glass of locally brewed mead, which I will try next time. The lady of the table had the chocolate soufflé, presented in a miniature copper pot that could only be described as cute, complemented by a plate of raspberries.

Craft

• 43 E. 19th St.
• (212) 780-0880
• Meal 21 of 52: beet salad ($14), foie gras ($26), Scottish salmon ($26), roasted organic chicken ($28), Maine diver scallops ($28), potatoes au gratin ($10), and a bunch of other stuff.