G-astronomic
Fancy restaurants aren't my thing, to be honest. Kettner's is still my idea of swank, and the only time I've ever set foot in a ridiculously expensive, Michelin-starred restaurant, my host's wife spent the evening throwing up in the toilets after partaking of the sea-food. The waiters, naturally, made no effort to help or to check if we had a problem, and we were too intimidated to complain. I'm sure food writer Jay Rayner wouldn't have stood for that:
I check out the wine list, which is full of big-name wines at bizarre prices. For example, there is a 1961 Chateau Latour. It’s listed at $8,416…I call over the sommelier. “We just mark up everything 300 percent,” he says, with a “What are you going to do about it? look on his face….And why would you want to put yourself through the ordeal of visiting five places in one night? Bizarre.I want to punch him. By now, I want to punch a lot of people. Mostly I want to punch the other customers, not just for being stupid enough to eat here—and on a Wednesday night, the place is packed—but simply because of who they are. I survey the room and not for the first time I find myself wondering gloomily about the types who go to expensive restaurants, and whether I too might be one of them.