Eating Out: 2nd Hand Canlis

I've eaten at Canlis ONE TIME. It was ethereal. It is the Highest of Classes. It is expensive. It is worth it. Every moment from the valet to the final check to walking out with most of your understuff not exposed, worth every bit of the $190 I spent on appetizers.

Kidding. They don't have "appetizers," dirtload. Frigging great food. They do a few things and they do each of them perfectly +2 (including "surprise" and "butter.").

We have a "dress code" where I am consulting.
It basically can be summed up in these words:
"Don't wear jeans before Friday."

Not $180 jeans. Not $20 jeans. Not well-washed, properly-fit-to-flatter jeans. Not baggy jeans wit' yo ayass hanging 'bove da sagg. Nuh-uh. No jeans.

Cargo pants? Sure.
Luau shirt? Aloha.
Smell like a batting helmet? No problem.
Khakis that upon closer-look are denim? Okay, nobody's gonna tattle.
Utili-kilt? Evenutally I will find out.
Utility camping pants that zip-off above the knee to become shorts? YES.

This last choice was made by a guy who works as a database blah-blah and wears his beard and hair "unkempt." Skullet to a ponytail. Long beard. Usually eating loudly somewhere. Grumpy. In pants that could zzzzzoooooooeeep! into a pair of pasty leg-baring shorts in a heartbeat.

Long story short, the eye-test doesn't show him to be somebody who would saddle up at a 4-star restaurant long-known as THE 4-Star in Seattle (up there with Rover's) and settle into a well-versed meal. Yet he DID that over the weekend. Then walked around complaining to people all day about how expensive it is. And the service was bad. And how he felt uncomfortable.

You dine. You do not EAT. There is no GORGING. You ask for a wine suggestion if you're not sure. You don't point to the cheapest and say "THAT."

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him understand that not all horses should be drinking at that particular trough. High prices keep the riff-raff out. I'm sure a pair of well-pleated khakis and a shirt with long sleeves was in order. Now damnit, bring me my cheese stix.
I've been there. I knew what to expect. And I was half this guy's age. Sounds like he wasted his time and money. Next time, zip those pantlegs off and get you some food on a stick. Leave the dining to those who'd rather not see your skullet.

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