Parliament does not merely serve dinner; it stages a quiet little seduction, the kind that slips under the skin before you even realize you’ve surrendered. Nestled inside The Benjamin Royal Sonesta, the brasserie glows with the sort of intimate Manhattan glamour that whispers rather than shouts—low light, polished finishes, a room calibrated for intrigue, not spectacle. My friends and I swept in before our Rockettes evening, already vibrating with holiday anticipation, and Parliament set the tone with the precision of a well-timed overture.
Chef Rakmin Lee is the conductor of this sensory symphony. His multicultural discipline—honed in Michelin-starred kitchens, luxury hotels, and the culinary cathedrals of New York and San Francisco—reveals itself in every plate. The man treats modern American cuisine like a diplomatic summit between Korean, Japanese, Chinese, French, and Italian lineages, each note in balance, each flavor intentional. The branzino emerged as a featherlight masterpiece, its skin crisped to a whisper, its flesh pearlescent and impossibly tender, the sort of dish that makes one reconsider what restraint can achieve in the hands of a master.
The bar, meanwhile, spoke to my soul with a Belvedere martini so perfect it bordered on spiritual. Cold enough to discipline the senses, clean enough to feel couture, and garnished with the confidence of a drink that knows exactly who it is. It fortified us for the next chapter of the night, one that belonged to the Rockettes.
The show remains a New York holiday fever dream—iridescent, nostalgic, and shimmering with childlike wonder. I found myself buzzing long after the final kick line, possibly having more fun than half the children in the theater. The spectacle reminded me that magic is not exclusive to the young; it simply requires permission, a willingness to step into the glittering choreography of joy. Whether you are shepherding little ones who still believe in miracles or you are an adult child like me who refuses to surrender delight, the Rockettes are a must for every holiday season—once is never enough.
Parliament bookended the night with a delicious sort of sophistication, a reminder that New York’s enchantment lies equally in its cuisine and its cultural rituals. The food nourished the body, the martini revived the spirit, and the Rockettes awakened the part of the soul that still believes in sequins, synchronicity, and the unabashed theater of the holidays.
Consider this my decree: start the night at Parliament, end it in Radio City’s spellbinding glow, and let yourself be swept—fully, joyfully—into December’s decadent embrace.
