There’s a downside to everything, even a coupon, as I sit in the very ritzy Russian Petrossian Restaurant, about to inhale some complimentary caviar, an acquired taste much like Tab, or Cool Whip despite what it costs.
When I say this place is pricy I’m not whistling Lara’s Theme, a joke…get it…instead of Dixie, the theme from Dr. Zhivago?
Woody Allen said, if you have to explain a joke, it’s more a eulogy…but allow me to continue.
I order their cheapest vodka that’s not so cheap, to sip while I nibble the Cartier of fish on little pads of toast. Did I mention I’m all dressed up? Smoke and mirrors baby, never letting on how low the coffers really are.
There’s a man wooing a woman a few feet away bathed in enough mink to stunt its population. He is, to my distaste, too zipped up in his 3-piece suit listing his credits in life like he’s applying for a job, while his date mechanically eats and drinks.
The waiters, in their old style livery – slim black pants beneath full, white starched aprons, mill about like overbearing penguins.
As I sit thinking of moving seats, I hear the woman say, “How nice you did all this dinner theatre, but I’m more interested in a man who stays put.”
The guy, seeming stunned by this statement says, “But it was in my profile, I’m a working actor.”
“Aren’t you the banker from Long Island?”
All I know is, I hope when their bill comes, John Barrymore and the Mink…