Archibald's

Archibald's wine list feels like an afterthought stapled to the back of the menu. The kind of selection that screams 'we have wine' without actually caring whether you drink it. You're scanning for something—anything—that isn't a distributor's greatest hits compilation.

The list leans heavily on safe, mass-market labels you'd find at any chain steakhouse in America. California Cabs dominate the reds, with a few token Pinots and a Malbec for variety. Whites are mostly Chardonnay and Pinot Grigio from producers nobody gets excited about. There's no regional depth, no interesting producers, and zero sense that anyone curating this list has tasted wine in the past decade. It's the vinous equivalent of ordering from a laminated menu.

Glass pours exist, probably four to six options that rotate never. Expect the usual suspects: a Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay, maybe a Meiomi Pinot Noir, something Australian and fruit-forward. The pours are generous enough but priced like they're doing you a favor. No splits, no half-bottles, no creative options for people who want to explore without committing to a full pour of mediocrity.