Frog Club Mixes Spectacle With Old-School Exclusivity

Welcome to the Scene Report, a column in which Eater captures the vibe of a notable New York restaurant at a specific moment in time. Read other scene reports here, here, here, and here.

Beyond the gossip that shrouded the opening, one of the most talked-about aspects of Frog Club — the West Village restaurant from chef Liz Johnson — is its no photo policy.

Even in a city with members-only restaurants like ZZ’s from Carbone, it’s a rare stance. The redeeming quality, perhaps, is it protects the room from becoming TikToked and ensures a level of privacy for its customers (which, if its sibling restaurant in Horses, in Los Angeles, is any indication, will include its fair share of celebrities). It also means it’s impossible to game plan whether you even want to eat the food, without a posted menu or photos making the rounds.

One way to get 86’d from Frog Club, as you’ve probably heard, is by taking those stickers off your phone — one of several restaurant rules in the former Chumley’s space, where it was said that the 86 term originated (a reference to the 86 Bedford address). The question: Is it worth all the hopping through hoops to dine there?

The vibe: What’s clear is that Johnson has tended to the smallest details, down to the frog-themed towelettes for hand sanitizing, custom-made for the restaurant; the plates hanging from the ceiling in chains also feature the Frog Club name. A charming mural of anthropomorphized, cafe society frogs is reminiscent of the spirit of the Madeleine one at Bemelmans. A roaring fireplace at the center of the room is a focal point. Without the strobe lights of an iPhone camera, it gives the guise of atemporality — or, at least, a time when Sex and the City was still on air, with a drinks list that includes throwback Tequila Sunrises ($18).

What to drink: If you wish for an of-the-moment drink, there’s the pricey Dirty Kermit, $26, featured with a trademark symbol on the drinks list. This is no dirty martini, but Frog Club’s play on a Bloody Mary: It’s green with chunky green tomatoes, and an olive garnish made to look like the Muppet’s eyes.

What to eat: From an initial visit, I thought the menu was a creative approximation of what makes a New York restaurant right now, even with some misses. The starters were the strongest: Oysters are served as shooters in the style of red borscht ($24). Some dishes are written like a haiku verse, that requires asking for answers. For example, “green tomato strings” ($16) are strips of green tomato fried in batter, that we ate down to its last crumb.

The lobster pierogies ($27) were the most successful look at old-school New York, while making it something new. The hamburger ($34), served on an English muffin-style bun with a side of butter, reminded me a bit of the one at Swoony’s, another spot looking to retro Americana — though here, it’s an iteration that was more forgettable — improved some by a side of lesser-seen corkscrew fries if thicker potatoes are your kind of thing.

Frog Club has some fun desserts. There’s the “heavenly tapioca” ($16), topped with gold leaf the size of a Magnum condom wrapper, which tasted seductively rich. But the most memorable is the Tutti Frutti Spaghetti Sundae ($16, also trademarked), where the lurid orange sherbet has been turned into pasta noodles, topped with tutti frutti coulis in place of marinara, white chocolate dustings in the style of Parmesan, and a mint leaf instead of basil. It’s saccharine but playful — and you’ll want to finish the plate before it becomes melted lava. Prices are to be expected for a hard-to-get-into West Village restaurant.

Keep in mind: At times, it can be difficult to separate cheekiness from performance art, turning the spectators themselves into spectacle. Though we didn’t order the green pepper dip — featured on the Frog Club Instagram — it’s the only restaurant I know of that serves baby carrots to adults. Some commenters on the post wondered if the dish was an inside joke.

Whatever the reason may be for dining at Frog Club, few people will attend for the food. And for some, the dramatic preamble to the opening has already left a bitter residue.

It began with the news that Johnson and then-partner and husband, Will Aghajanian, had enlisted former Estela owner, Thomas Carter, as a consultant for what was, at the time, called Froggy’s. (The arrangement has since been dissolved.)

You know the rest by now, that Johnson later filed for divorce from Aghajanian, alleging abuse in various forms — a window into a toxic, years-long partnership resulting in traded accusations. In the end, only Johnson seems to have the rights to run Frog Club (Aghajanian claimed it’s been left in “legal limbo,” the New York Times reported).

Horses, which Johnson oversees, has reportedly remained as busy as ever. But still, the halo of controversy has left an incredible amount of pressure on the Frog Club kitchen and I’m curious to see what’s to come if it’s given a chance to relax and not try as hard.

That hasn’t stopped Johnson from leaning in and using the hype to expertly brand the restaurant. Dishware and neckerchiefs are for sale on the menu as souvenirs. At the entrance, there’s a penny press machine, the kind installed in carousels or at a funhouse, with its warped mirrors, a metaphor for the restaurant itself.

Overall, the atmosphere comes above all else, which is a fit for those who can put aside the complicated backstory and want to see and be seen at this exclusive lily pad of Lower Manhattan. That is, of course, if you can get in at all. Frog Club recently removed its reservation email from its website.

Update, March 12, 2024, 1:01 p.m.: This post has been updated to include that Frog Club has removed its reservation booking address.