A Fine Dining Experience

I had the privilege of taking my beautiful girlfriend out to dinner last night for her birthday. It was a lovely evening and we had a great time and experience. But, as usual, I feel the need to point out some nonsense that I encountered. (I feel like I'm becoming the next Larry David.....always having to point out what's wrong with a situation).

On the basis that I had a gift certificate, I chose to dine at a restaurant called Acapella, a northern Italian place down in Tribeca. Amazing place, the food was delectable and the service was ridiculously impeccable. They run a fancy establishment and it's no place for the savage. It's definitely a 3-star fine dining experience...which frankly, I wasn't expecting. I wasn't prepared, and the reason I wasn't prepared is because it's not 1987 and I didn't have a job on Wall Street. Nonetheless, I enjoy spoiling my girlfriend cuz she deserves every ounce of it, and it was a special occasion being her birthday, so we indulged a bit over our heads. Had a great time.

But I realized there's a catch 22 inherent in the fine dining experience. When you actually do it, it's supposed to be a special treat for yourself and whoever you're with...right? Well, sort of. On the one hand, yes....it's a nice experience to be taken care of with such refinement and attention to detail. On the other hand, it can be a source of discomfort because you feel like you're not doing anything right. Like some kind of high-school angst that's grand-fathered back in a voice that says you're not good enough to be here or if you do something that's not "cool" you'll be mocked, however subtly.

Now I don't think Joanna and I did anything wrong at all (okay, I may have licked my fingers once or twice....that's on me), but even still the pleasure and relaxation was affected a bit because we were on our toes to be proper and not screw up in some way. Joanna seemed a little more intimidated by this factor than I was, as I tend to mock policies and protocols that exist for no good reason. However, I was still affected by her stress because I had to get her to relax a bit and enjoy herself on her birthday.

Now I don't mean to say that this place was uppedy or snobbish, not at all. It's fine dining....it is what it is. Our waiter was quite affable and we were greeted warmly. However there was also a "captain" that approached our table (a captain, for those of you who don't know....is your actual waiter in a place like this.......they just don't do any real work, you see them once when they take your order, and that's the end of the relationship). Anyway, our captain, though knowledgeable and courteous, was a bit imposing with his suggestions. Naturally, it's his job to "sell" us on the specials and the vino, but it was far more than merely inviting, he was strongly suggestive.........as if to think I'd be out of my mind if I didn't want an appetizer? "You should try "this", you should try "that"....how about "this" for the lady, and afterward I'll bring you our list of cogniacs and ports." What am I, a male stripper? I just have bills comin' out of my ass crack over here? Should I duct tape my wallet to my forehead and then tie up my hands so you can get into it at will?

Now he was just doing his job, but again it was that intimidation factor that kept the moment from being enjoyable. Now admittedly, Joanna and I don't eat like that very often, and I'm sure our captain could sense that in little time. Especially when I ordered the "scallops", which read Scallopine on the menu.......he corrected me that it was actually veal. Case in point, I didn't know what the hell I was talking about despite my efforts to remain confident in throwing some of the pressure back his way. I looked like a jack ass, but I was over it within a few seconds. So far, there's really no nonsense of which to report in this experience....just that we were mingling with the "finer" class of palates in the city and feeling the pressure of being among them. No nonsense, that is, until the bill came.

Now please understand, I'm not a stingy guy, but when the check came, that's when I just shook my head in a way that says "this is bullshit". The bill was a bit more pricey than expected, which I'm totally fine with as long as I know what I'm getting into. But we ordered 2 of the appetizers that were special that night, and 2 desserts; none of which was the price cited. No dessert menu was presented, nor was a mathematical figure announced when he was rattling off the specials. You just order in ignorance and boom!....a small Tiramisu cost $14....it was hands down the best Tiramisu I've had, but it was $14. And my sorbet was $12. Yes, sorbet.

This is what I'm talking about. The pressure and expectation to not ask questions or pursue information out of fear that you'll be made to feel ignorant or out of place if you do so. It's that presumptious mentality of fine dining culture that expects you to disregard money as an even remotely problematic issue..."you're obviously willing to spend whatever "we" say you're gonna spend, so I'll just suggest accordingly", says the captain in his head. And he's not wrong for thinking this necessarily. I could have asked how much the desserts were or to see a menu (not that places like this cite prices on everything), but there was a dilemma in doing so. Do I want to ask and risk looking like a cheap boyfriend, and have this guy give me a glare of "you obviously don't belong here"? Or do I just suck it up and consider the occasion and go with it for the sake of making my girlfriend feel taken care of and loved. I'm a wise man most of the time, so I chose the latter. It was a no brainer; after all, I knew where I was.

Now for the real nonsense (sorry to be long-winded). The bill came, everything was fine, but I noticed the check had 2 spaces for 2 distinct tips. One for the waiter, and one for the captain. Really? I kinda wanted to pull them both aside and say, "here's my table, and over there is another table. I need one waiter here, and I'm guessing they can probably use a waiter over there. One of you stay here....and as for the other server.....get the fuck out of here!"

This notion that you have to tip two separate people for 1 table is where I draw the line. Having been a waiter many times before, I'm a 20% tipper always. But as a patron, I really don't need two guys taking turns disseminating information that one person can do....all for the purpose of slyly trying to get more of a tip out of me. Just give me one affable guy with a pen and I'm good to go. So I just tipped slightly over 20% for the whole bill and jotted a tiny note that read "you guys figure it out". I think this is fair, if you're gonna put me in an awkward situation to decide who should get what kind of tip, I'm just gonna throw it right back your way.

I enjoy fine dining, I really do. It's nice to take an occasion and be served with such care and refinement. I made the mistake of not knowing exactly the kind of place I was getting into. I happens sometimes. No biggie. It was a terrific restaurant and supremely excellent food. I'll just know better about the bullshit protocol next time.

Time for lunch, I think there's an Arby's nearby.