That, however, was before bars started climbing the scale, morphing into clubs and taking reservations. You can never get those reservations, of course, at least not at any time you actually want to eat, and if you just show up, you find the front festooned with velvet ropes to keep hoi polloi away.

I've been thinking about all this as I contemplate Lot 61, the place of the moment in Chelsea.

It is big and chic. It is filled with good art.

It is in a hot location.

It can be lots of fun. Still, if Lot 61 wants to be a restaurant, it is not a very good one.

Most restaurants take reservations.

Lot 61 certainly does. But it accepts them no more than a week in advance, and almost invariably at some extremely inconvenient hour. Should you be a party of six, a credit card will be required to guarantee the table.

After going through all those motions and, finally, snagging a Friday reservation, it was something of a shock to walk in at 7:30 and find that the dim, cavernous room was almost empty.

"Oh, you'll have a great time," our waiter reassured us as we snuggled into a zebra-skin-printed booth. "At 9 o'clock this is going to turn into a private room for an urban party." Being at a party for someone I do not know has never been high on my list of priorities, but I was curious as to what an urban party might be. So we hunkered down into the booth and studied our menus.

Titled "serious munchies," the menu will seem strange to anyone who arrives with the expectation of eating a real meal.

As snacks, the selections are expensive; as entrees, they are small.

What's more, anybody expecting bar food will find the menu rather intimidating.

With everything from figs and foie gras to french fries, this is bar food with attitude. Even good old shrimp cocktail is gussied up with hot peanut and lemongrass dipping sauces.

There is, however, one surprise: the food is mostly excellent.

"Mmmm," I found myself crooning as the spicy scent of coconut, cilantro, lemongrass and mussels went wafting across the table. Those mussels were served in a wok in a delicious broth with bits of sticky rice on the side. They were so good we ordered seconds.

The mousse of foie gras was wrapped in prosciutto and served with a drunken fig that had been macerated in port. A pretty goat cheese timbale with eggplant and tomato confit arrived. Then came salmon rolled around vodka-spiked cream cheese that was sprinkled with salmon roe; in the middle, for sheer color contrast, was a glistening beet salad.

"It's cocktail party food," I thought as I snagged an oyster with cucumbers and caviar in one hand and a piece of hacked-duck spring roll in the other. Eating those little morsels reminded me very much of sampling tidbits passed on trays: it was all too easy to munch our way through the menu. Delicious tuna summer rolls filled with rice noodles and avocado were gone in a flash.

So was the Asian-inflected crab salad. "How much are we spending?" I wondered as the chilled kumamoto oysters quickly disappeared.

Most of the dishes are in the $8 to $12 range, so the bill quickly added up.

And we managed to keep eating until the party began. We had kataif rolls -- little hedgehogs filled with rock shrimp, feta cheese and sun-dried tomatoes. Spring rolls sprinkled with black and white sesame seeds looked lovely but had a slightly tired taste. And the jumbo shrimp cocktail had one terrific sauce (lemongrass) and one horrid one (hot peanut).

By the time we got to the few dishes on the menu that might be considered main courses (the baby lamb chops are the best), it was 9 and the urban party people were starting to arrive. They looked like ordinary people to me, as they waited for the guest of honor to show up, drifting about and looking bored.

If they wondered what we were doing at their party, eating tough steaks with soggy fries and rather dull fettuccini with arugula, zucchini and tomatoes, they gave no indication.

But by then I was wondering myself.

Yes, most of the food is good.

The service is professional.

And if your idea of a night on the town is to crash an endless cocktail party where you don't know a soul, this might be for you.

But even that terrific hot moch accino pudding, which reminded me of eating chocolate cake batter topped with coffee ice cream, couldn't make me feel that this bar as a restaurant is a good idea. Frankly, if I'm going to eat dinner in a bar, I'd rather have a burger.