This morning, Times food scribe Frank Bruni took on the troubling yet completely understandable—maybe even great?—sociological phenomenon of rich patrons at nice restaurants getting completely faced on wine that costs as much as your monthly paycheck and then doing stupid-awesome things like screwing in bathrooms and stripping in dining rooms.
THE Bordeaux was flowing, the foie gras abundant and the well-heeled epicures at Daniel were having a refined old time when suddenly all eyes turned toward a table against one wall and all conversation ceased.
Jean-Luc Le Dû, a sommelier in the restaurant, looked in that direction, too. And he saw her: the woman making like a dancer on a pole at Scores.
She stood facing the rest of the dining room. First she took off a vest or a jacket, as best Mr. Le Dû remembers. Then she went to work on her blouse.
Just as she was getting to her bra, the maître d'hôtel got to her. Thus her drunken, wobbly stint as a stripper ended, and so did her dinner. She and her date, a smiling, sloshed man who had seemingly egged her on, were escorted to the door.
"She was not necessarily attractive or young, so it was disruptive," complained Mr. Le Dû, who left Daniel several years ago and now owns a wine shop in Greenwich Village. "If she were beautiful, it might have been different. People might have been cheering her on."
Yeesh. The Times commenters—a breed not as dissimilar to YouTube commenters as one might think!—have already weighed in extensively with their own experiences, but they put the bore in bourgeoise. We'd much rather hear your drunken culinary experiences.