Last comment: Is it really that threatening to hear a critical comment about a local restaurant? Hard to believe how sensitive a topic this is--most haven't even been to the restaurant, they focus on someone who didn't even write this review (and who may well not agree with my views). Wow.
Hey, who dese guys from outta town who come in and knocka our French chef?
Moddaratas, trow dem bums out! We gotta stan up for our Frenchy!*
* * *
Many years ago I had the privilege, once in my life, of dining under the rarefied circumstances of which GAF speaks. It was at a noted San Francisco restaurant, to this day a four-star establishment. The fine wine flowed like caviar and the water tasted like foie, or something like that. However, there was a crucial difference vis-a-vis the above story: the guy who made all this possible, a dandified, somewhat slippery fellow of foreign extraction and perhaps questionable monetary sources, got us this special treatment by liberally larding the establishment and its staff with his boodle. He probably dropped at least an extra G if not 2 or 3 just on the desire to be treated like royalty-- Saudi in particular-- which impressed me with the smoothness with which it was transacted (on both sides) even if it did not, necessarily, strike me as quite worth the price. Nevertheless, if it was what you wanted, there was no question that he knew the cost, paid it happily, and received satisfaction for money spent.
Some years later we were visiting Napa and went to Michael Chiarello's Tra Vigne for dinner. We were sitting in the anteroom when I happened to notice a set of cowboy boots walking past. My first thought was that this was a bit rough even for a technically rural part of California. My second thought was, hey, didn't I just see a guy wearing cowboy boots at the Oscars? I looked up and it was Billy Bob Thornton, fresh off his screenwriting Oscar for Sling Blade, and Laura Dern, whom he was dating at the time pre-Angelina.
A few minutes later both our parties were seated and we happened to land right next to the stars, who were fawned over by the staff fairly disgustingly. (Though to their credit, our service didn't suffer as a result.) And she— second-generation Hollywood— proceeded to do the Get Shorty thing of refusing to order off the menu and instead creating some dish of her own which, in actress-diet fashion, contained practically nothing tasty to eat, only healthy stuff. (It was not unlike the vegan meal Chiarello had to prepare for another actress on a recent Top Chef Masters.) By the end of the evening, it seemed clear that she was the only person in our two parties, and maybe the whole restaurant, who didn't like what she had to eat at Tra Vigne.
It seems to me that it is one thing to drop a wad and expect exceptional treatment, the world was ever thus and fine dining only moreso, but it's an odd combination of presumption and naivete to expect that you can go into a top drawer (or nearly) restaurant, drop only your
name and the vast influence you wield as
some guy with a food website, as if those weren't thick on the ground to begin with (I even know one or two, and I'm not sure they don't have at least as many readers as Mr. Plotnicki's site), order them to muck around what they normally do, and then be surprised that all you've really done is throw a monkey wrench into their smooth-functioning machine and guaranteed yourself an actually worse experience than if you'd simply gone in as a normal person and ordered the normal meal without trying to be a big shot.
Anyway, next time try being an attractive blonde Hollywood celebrity, that might work better than being an internet star, which is like "jumbo shrimp."
* Entirely facetious, do not mean to suggest in any way that the poster should actually be moderated.