Jean’s is one disco ball away from being a full-on clubstaurant, and usually, that would mean expensive food that is mediocre at best. But the priciest thing on the menu at this two-story Noho restaurant is a $44 French dip with aged ribeye, and they also happen to have their own produce farm in Pennsylvania. So yes, you’re mostly at Jean’s to mingle with people wearing gowns and drinking champagne, but you won’t wake up the next morning regretting having spent your entire rent on spicy tuna crispy rice. Jean’s is sexy, mysterious, and a little bit annoying—they call their vestibule “the gallery,” there’s a stunt dessert in the form of a giant chocolate chip cookie, and for awhile you had to request a reservation via email. But it’s the only place we know where you can start a big, frivolous New York night out with homegrown vegetables upstairs, and end it with one nightcap too many in a blood-red club down below. Entering through the gallery, you’ll walk through a bistro area with a few tables that look into the kitchen. There’s a golden bar room where the champagne drinkers hang out, and finally, behind floor-length, red velvet zebra-print curtains, there’s a palatial dining room. Big mirrors line the walls, and a small, functional fireplace crackles in the back. By 8:30 on weekends, this room fills up with people in sunglasses. That woman in the booth next to yours might be famous, but you’ll never know for sure. For every person in head-to-toe leather, there’s someone else with 129k followers in an expensive sweatshirt, sipping an espresso martini, and letting a juicy burger drip down their sleeves. That burger is rich—something you’ll want to eat on your birthday, or after you’ve finally cleaned your room and paid that bill. But the whole menu is celebration-worthy: mini lobster rolls with shots of warm lobster bisque, a sculptural caesar salad (with that farm-fresh produce), a luxuriously saucy grilled half-chicken, and the occasional off-menu seafood tower. A manager in a suit might stop by and say something like “welcome to our family,” and it will either feel awkward or perfect, depending on how many chili oil martinis you’ve had so far. The martini-drinking continues downstairs in the cocktail lounge, a club-like area which is "open occasionally" (usually on weekends). You might catch an amateur East Village-based DJ (or Snoop Dogg, who once played a set in an earlier, even more exclusive iteration of Jean’s.) If Tao opened in Dimes Square, and attracted the same people who frequent Fanelli’s, it might feel a little like this place. It’s a level of over-the-top that, initially, made us want to move to Vermont and live life more simply. But then, there’s something about dunking a cookie the size of your head into a glass of bourbon milk, while listening to two people who walked in separately deciding to leave together. The simple life is good and all, but at Jean's, the messy life is just more fun.