Elvis Brings Sultry Tangerine Nostalgia and French Fare to Great Jones Street

The morsel-sized 30-seat interior is true to Neidich's vision: milky orange walls, mauve-red tiles, marble counters and The Great Jones Café's original wooden bar spanning one whole wall. Custom woven French rattan bar stools alternate between red and black, exhaling heavier Parisian air into the former New Orleanian space. Two of the stools were cut at the legs, as if they devoured the "Eat Me" petit four from Alice in Wonderland, in order to squeeze underneath a window. Arguably the best seat in the house during warmer months, this tight little counter spot accepted a breeze from the flung-open glass windows while still feeling saturated in Elvis' glowing interior, which, by 7:30 p.m. on opening night, was overflowing with patrons.

Kruvant, who used to live above the café, also approached the launch of Elvis as a sort of revival—a sultry tangerine time capsule dressed up in country curtains and jarred French fare.

"I was a huge fan of Great Jones Café," Kruvant said. "A friend of mine showed me the space sometime around 2010. My partner, Darin Rubell, and I are friends with the original owner, Phil Hartman , who has shared a ton of old stories with us, like Dan Aykroyd and Bill Murray dancing on tables and how Basquiat's assistant would wheel his lunch to him from The Jones across the street to his studio."

The food menu from Golden Age Hospitality's executive chef Nicole Gajadhar includes Fromage ($9 each or $23 for three) with dripping honeycomb, walnuts and tomato jam (the Langres, oozing from its light orange rind, was exquisite; other choices included Tommette and Mad River Blue). For $15 to $18, country pork or mushroom and truffle terrines, duck rillettes and an impeccably smooth, delicately rich chicken and fois gras paté complemented the wines beautifully. Other notable bites include the citrusy olives, anchovies with chili butter, the indulgent hot gaufre (a dense potato waffle with crisp edges overflowing with melty raclette and espelette pepper) and off-menu shaved watermelon radishes with whipped herb butter. Dishes were capped at $24 for the Tuna Niçoise, which is relatively reasonable for a NoHo wine bar. The $22 whole chilled artichoke dijon aioli was not worth the $20 upcharge (an artichoke on Instacart is about $1.79, or $4.49 for an organic one at the Chelsea Whole Foods), despite the eye-catching aesthetic and silver platter on which it was served.

Neidich and his team opted to fill the wine list with natural French wines by the glass and bottle to give customers unique options at more affordable price points.

Le Dive wine director Frank Guerriero curated Elvis' wine list to maintain "a sense of whim and discovery," balancing modern classics from vanguard producers as well as lesser-known wines he discovered while living (and drinking) in France. Guerriero's go-to is a by-the-bottle choice, Le Fond de l'Air Est Rouge, due to its fragrant and playful taste, with a spine of minerality that serves as a perfect match for pork terrine. As for his absolute favorite?

"Thierry Hesnault's wines have made me cry on at least one occasion, so I'm thrilled his Pineau d'Aunis, with all its edge and verve, is in the cellar," Guerriero told Observer.

On opening night, I soaked up a spread of well-executed noshes and two glasses of wine from the window as if immersed in a day-to-night timelapse of a grainy romantic film. I arrived in the light of early evening, when the lively-hued exterior popped and a few people sat at the bar. The dim, airy interior flowed with the type of New Orleans energy the former café once possessed. As the sun set, Elvis crescendoed—the crowd hummed to the flicker of candlelight, French '60s pop kept the cadence and 20-somethings lit cigarette after cigarette at bistro tables outside. While adverse to the smell of tobacco as I eat, I didn't mind. This is The Great Jones, after all, or is it France? It didn't matter. I was carried, for some moments, to both.

Still, I pondered the question that had been gnawing at me since I heard The Great Jones Café was getting the Golden Age treatment: Why did Neidich call it Elvis?

"I know it sounds crazy, but I'm not at liberty to say at the moment," Neidich said opening week.

I wondered, is the namesake the ultimate homage to The Great Jones Café's ceramic Elvis bust that stood watch over its legends and locals over the years? Is it because the former joint had a jukebox, and that's just so rock 'n roll? Is Baz Luhrmann a silent partner? (I'd say Sofia Coppola , but then it would certainly be called Priscilla.) Will there eventually be an Elvis impersonator, swinging hips to "You're the Devil in Disguise" on the old wooden bar? Lord, I hope so.

Regardless of what the name means to Neidich, the goal for his latest project remains in line with his other contributions to the New York social scene, only spiked with a little more history.

"I would love for Elvis to add to the fabric of downtown," Neidich said. "It's an amazing location on one of New York's most storied streets. Similar to the way the old Great Jones Café functioned, I want Elvis to serve as a local institution—a perfect place for a meetup with a glass of wine and bites after work or dinner, and every moment in between."