There’s no shortage of joints in this town that try to tap into the elusive Rat Pack swagger of the Stork Club in its heyday, but Tony Starlight’s has a distinct advantage—namely, the presence of the dapper proprietor himself. He’s the hepcat, dressed sharp enough to slice cheddar, who materializes at your table inquiring about the quality of your cocktail, Daddy-O. Indeed, nothing can touch the twice-nightly Saturday stage shows when Starlight (forever sweatin’ to the oldies) keeps clusters of smartly attired diners rapt with a barrage of banter, jokes cribbed from Henny Youngman and a set list of swingin’ tunes that will have you wishing you’d paid more attention when Mom and Dad tried to teach you the foxtrot.
