Good Bruni in the NYT:
I visit L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon, in the Four Seasons Hotel, during its first week. The restaurant is supposed to start serving lunch at 11:30 a.m., but by 11:40 it hasn’t opened, and by noon only 8 of the 20 or so people angling for a seat have been escorted inside. Most of the others stare poignantly at the hostess. And wait. And don’t complain.
After my friends and I get a table and place our order, one of our servers volunteers, in a jubilant voice, that Mr. Robuchon thinks we’ve made excellent decisions. I survey the path between my table and the door. Is it long and broad enough for cartwheels?
Read it all here. Thanks reader GH for the link.