“What
kind of establishment do you think this is?”
“How
dare you insult me!”
“You
think you can get in with that?”
It’s
just after 8 p.m. on a balmy
summer Saturday and I’m heading toward one of New York’s most overbooked
restaurants, Balthazar, where celebrities regularly go to be celebrated and
where lay diners like me call a month in advance to try and secure a
reservation. I don’t have a reservation. I don’t have a connection. I don’t
have a secret phone number. The only things I have are a $20, a $50, and a $100
bill, neatly folded in my pocket.
I’ve
never bribed my way into a restaurant. I’ve never slipped a C-note or greased a
palm. In truth, I’ve never even considered it. I’ve assumed, of course,
that people do such things. I’ve seen my share of Cary Grant movies. I’ve heard—and
wondered whether such old-fangled gestures would work in the high-stakes,
high-hype world of New York City restaurants. For everyday diners in Manhattan,
cracking the waiting list at Nobu is said to be harder than getting courtside
tickets for the Knicks. But is that true?