Bruno

Bruno on Neglinnaya is what you'd call a classic meat restaurant, minus any hint of cliché. Lucky Group has built a space here where everything serves a single idea: give the guest the right steak, confident service, and an evening they won't want to end. The kitchen is run by Tom Halpin and Evgeny Alexandrov — both came up through Maya, and both know how to work with meat so it speaks for itself. The centerpiece is a custom grill oven, where fire meets quality raw material without unnecessary intermediaries.

Our restaurant guide's team finds Bruno a place you can recommend without hesitation when you want a straightforward, high-end, well-assembled meat dinner in the center of Moscow.

The menu is built on cuts sourced from around the world: Argentine, Japanese, Russian. Ribeye, tenderloin, picanha, porterhouse — each ages in the Dry Aged cabinet for at least four weeks. This isn't a technique adopted for marketing's sake: long aging changes the texture and concentrates the flavor enough that the difference is noticeable even to those who don't consider themselves connoisseurs. The steakhouse on Neglinnaya works precisely with that difference — between good meat and meat cooked correctly.

The bar at Bruno is its own story. Maxim Gorelik and Artyom Tokarevskikh put together a list inspired by the aesthetic of the 1920s, where classics sit alongside original interpretations. The Pomme Julep is built on absinthe, the Last Spritz on house-made sage soda, and the Porto Ronco gets depth from truffle distillate and cocoa butter. The dry martini is served here in several versions following old recipes — a ritual in its own right. The wine program is curated by Dmitry Kipelkin and Maria Trykova, with a focus on red wines from Burgundy, Bordeaux and New World producers.

The interior was designed by the British designer John Whelan. Nothing inside is accidental: the space reads as a coherent statement on the early Art Deco era — strict geometry, natural leather in darkened tones, heavy textures. The light fixtures and bar structures carry something of Central European craft, while the architectural choices — doors, ceiling lines — lean more toward Italian restraint of the 1930s. The open kitchen of stainless steel isn't hidden but deliberately placed in view: a point of tension around which the whole dark-wood-paneled room is built. On the walls are abstract, minimalist photographs by Marianna Bernstein, which don't distract but hold the rhythm.

Our secret guests gave the dinner 8 out of 10 — for the coherence of the concept, confident work with meat, and the sense that every element of the evening was thought through rather than assembled as an afterthought.