Parents visiting

Gavin Kaysen's flagship in a converted warehouse. The lunch menu is friendlier on the wallet than dinner and the room is the same: dark wood, white napkins, the bread program alone earns its place. You will be seated for ninety minutes and you will be glad about it.

Free admission, real collection, the Doryphoros statue in one wing and a Rothko a hundred feet later. They will be proud of you for taking them. Two hours, a coffee in the atrium, an exit through the gift shop they will spend twenty dollars in.

A French bistro across from Rice Park. White tablecloths, a raw bar, escargot, frites that arrive in a paper cone. Old-school in the warmest way. The kind of place that exists for exactly this purpose, and has for twenty years.

Walk across Rice Park after dinner. Brocade chairs, a doorman in a hat, one good cocktail in a glass that feels heavier than it should. A clean ending to the night.