Manhattan Of La Jolla

Manhattan of La Jolla is as much a time capsule as it is a restaurant—a place where the spirit of an old-school New York supper club is alive and well, transplanted to the sun-drenched coast of California. Tucked within the Empress Hotel on Fay Avenue, it immediately envelops you in understated glamour: dimly lit booths dressed in red and black, vintage photographs lining the walls, and live jazz that wraps the room in a smoky haze of nostalgia. Patrons slip into their best evening attire here—not out of obligation, but out of reverence for ritual. The draw isn't just the food (though a veal chop Fiorentina or plump lobster ravioli will make you rethink what Italian-American cooking can be), but the entire arc of an evening meant to be savored. Service skews attentive and personal, even if occasionally stretched thin during the dinner rush—quirky, warm waiters who know when to linger and when to leave you to your conversation. There’s a certain theater in tableside preparations: a Caesar salad whisked together with flourish, or cherries jubilee flaming softly in low light. On weekends, the energy surges; jazz musicians set up near the bar, and voices rise above clinking glasses until conversation drifts into laughter. It can get boisterous—especially for those seated at the center—but regulars know that sliding into a back booth offers both intimacy and escape from the revelry. Locals cherish Manhattan as their neighborhood's answer to Manhattan itself—a gathering place for birthdays, anniversaries, and reunions. Tourists catch wind of its reputation and wander in seeking that elusive blend of authenticity and spectacle. For three decades running, this has been La Jolla’s bridge between coasts and generations: a culinary anchor where old traditions are preserved not as museum pieces but as living rituals, each meal steeped in memory.