We're running a bit late to the corner of 55th & 3rd. Max Wastler is waiting for our lunch date. After a handful of text exchanges, we spot him in the red brick saloon—penny-tile floors, carved mahogany bar, tin ceiling and stained-glass transoms. P.J. Clarke’s is a vestige of a better time—another century all together. It also serves a legendary burger. It’s wall-to-wall packed with suits (and deals were certainly being made) but we manage a grip of stools at Doug Quinn’s bar with a bit of timing and keen eyes...

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