Aug 13, 2004 05:23 PM
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Hollywood, 5:54 PM
Tue Feb 9
57 posts in the last 24 hours
Because it's Friday and a liquid lunch tends to loosen the sediment around our black heart, we feel it would be nice to do a little public service work and print a reader's letter to a well-known eating establishment complaining about the preferential treatment of celebrities while loyal customers are left to pine hungrily for the spinach dip. We're not recommending that the restaurant in question change their policies, as this would precipitate an instant, bloody anarchy and a likely hail of locusts, but it's fun to hear someone fart into the hurricane of the local social order now and again. Next time, Owen Wilson, why don't you just turn down the quick table and set the Apocalypse in motion? The letter follows after the jump.
I write as a loyal and frequent customer of Houston’s Century City. On the night of August 2, my wife and I visited Houston’s to satisfy a two-day-old craving for your finest fare (her for the ahi tuna salad, me for the Original Club).After being informed of the thirty to forty minute wait, we attended patiently, occasionally circling the bar like condors in the idle hope that a lingering party would vacate one of the tables. (They didn’t.) But no matter, as we were
on “the list” and knew we would soon be seated. And so, after about thirty minutes, we were.The wait would have been slightly shorter, however, and infinitely more tolerable to the psyche, if not for an incident that transpired shortly before our name was called.
As the hostess drew tantalizing close to our party, we noted the arrival of middling celebrity Owen Wilson. While the hostess did not immediately recognize the star of such cinematic gems as "Shanghai Noon" and "The Minus Man" -
quoting him a wait comparable to the one we were completing - another staff member quickly rectified the “problem” by whisking Wilson and his guest away to the next available table.As a resident of Los Angeles, I recognize that restaurateurs are not immune from the city’s endemic stargazing culture, and will often afford certain guests preferred reservations, reserved tables, or velvet-lined VIP rooms with diamond-encrusted flatware. (I’m speculating as to the latter.) Such accommodations neither affect nor concern me.
But it is rude, unprofessional, and an indignity of the highest order to have a hostess satisfy her - or her boss’s - starlust by actually cutting into line, and forcing one to stand in deference to every castmember of "Zoolander" who should happen through the door. I mean, let’s be honest, while it was hard not to appreciate Mr. Wilson’s inspired performance in "Meet the Parents," or his memorable co-creation "Rushmore," we’re not exactly talking about John Barrymore here. Rather, our
unnecessarily extended wait was precipitated by "Bottle Rocket"’s Dignan, a hapless crook who discovers after an abortive robbery that his keys are locked inside the escape van. Moreover, because we live and work near the restaurant, and eat
frequent lunches and dinners there, I strongly suspect that our contribution to your bottom line is greater than his. (Indeed, the "I Spy" star left about fifteen minutes after being seated.)To my dismay, your food that evening was customarily excellent, briefly distracting me from my volcanic anger over the earlier slight. So while I can’t guarantee I won’t be back, I certainly won’t be happy about it.
Best wishes,
TJ
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