Call me an over-entitled breeder if you want, but I think that eating dinner at six-freakin'-o'clock is fair game for bringing a kid to almost any restaurant.
I remember when the Times ran a story on one of our regular spots, the tiny Jean-Claude in SoHo. They called it "absolutely the most authentic French bistro in America" or something in a giant front page article. We avoided it for a few weeks, worried and pissed that brainless, Times-worshipping suburban hordes would be lined up five deep outside. But it turned out fine. See, we'd always gone late, at 9:30 or 10, long after the NYT B&T's had come and gone. The coriander calamari might run out once in a while, but the restaurant wasn't ruined as we'd feared.
Same deal with babies. Except now we're the B&T. Wait, isn't this supposed to cheer me up?
A Glass of Wine and a Pacifier, Please [nymag]