Wine Spectator editor, publisher and chairman Marvin Shanken recently wrote about going to dinner with three friends; the bill for the evening was $1500 ($300 on food, $1200 on wine). His tip? $150. Shanken's rationale was that he tipped $60 for the food (a decent 20%) and $90 for the wine (an indecent 7.5%). But from the perspective of us common folk, it still adds up to a nasty 10% tip for a waiter who spent the entire night gently licking the wealthy, wide asses of Shanken and his guests.
According to GQ epicurean Alan Richman, Shanken admitted his tipping cruelty in the latest issue of Wine Spectator:
The purpose of his declaration, ostensibly, was to encourage a lively discussion of tipping. Such a dialogue could have been useful, but what he really did was proclaim himself one of the most loathed of restaurant patrons, a rich guy who stiffs the help.
But for the sake of editorial! Are we to believe that his server cannot appreciate sacrifice for the sake of thought-provoking editorial content? What's the harm of collecting a few food stamps in the grand scheme of quality bon vivant literature?