LOS ANGELES — At a table by the stained-glass window, an off-duty magician sat alone, working his way through a rare steak until, finally, it disappeared. When his dessert arrived with a small, dripping candle, I wished him a happy birthday, but he didn’t want to chat.
Instead, he pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and leaned toward my table. “Want to see a trick?” he asked.
Everyone who comes to the Magic Castle wants to see a trick. A Hollywood mansion built in 1909 as a family home, for decades it’s been a private club attached to the Academy of Magical Arts, an order of magicians and a school devoted to the mastery of props like coins, cards and silks.
CreditAdam Amengual for The New York Times
The place is not exactly known for its food, but it got a new chef in April. And because diners are not allowed to take pictures inside the castle, the restaurant maintains a level of mystery that is increasingly rare.
There are no streams of dishes shot from overhead or blurry cocktails on Yelp. No influencers leading walking-tour videos of the rooms on YouTube. Social media doesn’t ruin a place, but something about the Magic Castle seemed unspoiled to me, protected as it is from camera phones.
The restaurant is for members, but commoners can wangle their way in; politely emailing current performers often works, as does accompanying a member. I got a reservation through a friend, and my plan was simple: to keep my phone away and to pay attention, to take in as much magic as possible.
This started at the door, where my friends and I were instructed to say, “Open sesame” to a mechanical owl perched on the bookshelf.
After we paid our respects to the owl with the flashing eyes, the bookshelf opened, revealing a passage into the house. It was a touch of theme park staging, but it set the tone exactly right for what was ahead.
The décor throughout the castle is charming and gothic, with every wall covered in arcana, newspaper clippings, posters and portraits of long-gone performers, one-time players in the history of magic. The odd googly-eyed portrait will follow your gaze menacingly.
The door fee is $25 to $35, depending on which night you visit, and with simultaneous performances going on in every room, paying attention to one means you miss out on another. There’s no way around it: You experience the castle in fragments.
The dining room is upstairs, paneled and tasseled and flickering in the way of a Victorian parlor midseance. Because of the strict dress code — everyone is in suit jackets and ties, or flowing dresses — the room has the feel of a first-class cabin on a ghost cruise line.
The laughter is loud and drunken, and any spills are absorbed into a dark, patterned carpet. The menu is à la carte, and servers are quick to remind you that every diner is required to order an entree.
The new chef, Jason Fullilove, has updated presentations and added a few flourishes here and there: local peas and kumquats, wild prawns from the Pacific. But the menu is still rooted in vintage steakhouse and club fare.
The short rib ($40) holds a large, decorative, Flintstone-esque bone. The shrimp cocktail comes with more sauce than you could possibly use. Mr. Fullilove, who used to run the soul-food pop-up Barbara Jean, felt compelled to preserve the restaurant’s history. He held onto the menu’s most beloved old-fashioned dishes, like the fat slices of medium-rare beef Wellington ($48) wrapped in thin, buttery pastry, served with mashed potatoes and demi-glace shining like a dark mirror.
The magic happens, officially, after dinner — up the narrow stairwells, in the hidden rooms, on couches in lounges and on a stage known as the Palace of Mystery, where Luna Shimada opened parasol after parasol and made sweaty, deferential doves appear out of thin air.
In a small room dedicated to close-up magic and sleight of hand, Juan Luis Rubiales performed a card routine, taking bets on the four cards he placed face down on the table, showing off how he could roll a card back and forth around his hand like a ball.
Mr. Rubiales revealed that he had hidden coins under each of the four cards without our noticing. And when he asked us to guess each card, the guesses proved correct. The audience gasped and cheered.
It wasn’t over. The idea was to keep wandering around the castle, drink in hand, and to sip while we took in the shows, moving from room to room, starting a new tab in each.
But I wondered later if it was a bit of misdirection: When a man is trapped, juggling handkerchiefs inside a giant balloon and attempting to light a cigarette, you’re less likely to notice a few ice chips in your martini.
The Magic Castle 7001 Franklin Avenue, Hollywood; magiccastle.com
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