Locke Ober, Boston

Locke Ober puts blue in the blood of any patron. Audis and Mercedes line up outside. Basset hound paintings decorate on the walls. Thousand-dollar bottles of wine rest on white tablecloths. An all-male wait staff in bowties zip through a flock of silver-haired gentlemen who swill martinis and guffaw about the halcyon days of trickle-down economics. Be forewarned, though: your liberal guilt might flair up something terrible. Locke Ober rocks ‘old moneyed’ Boston a little too well: it’s run by an all-immigrant wait staff, and watching them cater to rich old white folk is uncomfortable unless you're also a fellow aristocrat.