EAT, DRINK AND BE MERRY -- SOMEPLACE ELSE

Maybe the greasepaint
moustache would have
helped.

The most over-referenced Groucho Marx quote is "I would never belong to a club that would have me as a member." Even if the better, more obscure, remark came when he tried to join a country club shortly after moving to Los Angeles in 1931. Told that the club didn't allow Jews, Groucho asked, "Since my son's only half-Jewish, can he go into the pool up to his knees?"
 
But it's the first quote that comes into play right now. Recently, the New York Post ran a piece about the Upper East Side restaurant called Le Bilboquet. Now, just from the name, you figure that this must be a pretty ritzy joint, even if the name translates to "The Cup and Ball", which sounds like the title of a porn movie. 

Le Bilboquet.

Ritzy restaurants are nothing unusual in New York. I've managed to get into a few myself (although it helps if it's on someone else's dime). Le Bilboquet, however, takes it one very rich step further. Unless you're one of the regulars, you need to email a reservation request, not because they're telephonically-challenged (they can be reached at 212-751-3036), but so they can Google your name. As one waiter said, "We want to keep the restaurant for special people only." 

That sparked my interest. Not only am I not difficult to Google, I come up as a writer who has been published by, among others, the Weekly Standard, Forbes, CBS News, and MarketWatch. Scroll a bit more, and there's my Next Avenue piece entitled "An Older Actor Adapts to a New Life". Considering that Robert de Niro can make it past the bouncer at Le Bilboquet --  and he's an older actor -- I figured I had a pretty good shot. (In his favor, de Niro isn't a background actor.)

Are these actors allowed?

But you know what comes up more than anything else? My recent interview with an AP reporter about age discrimination in the workplace -- how I was laid off at age 58 and subsequently received the stink-eye from prospective employers. 

Well, that's unfortunate, especially since by "special", the waiter meant "rich." Just how rich was something of a mystery, since Le Bilboquet's website is emptier than Wayne Lapierre's heart. All it offers is a photo and a way to make a reservation. For the menu, I had to go to Yelp, which is probably not a site "special" people use when wanting to tie on the feedbag. 

Take the skirt, leave the tomahawk.

While the prices aren't comparable to, say, your typical corner bistro, neither are they outlandish, with the entrees starting at $32 and going to $58. The Waldorf Astoria Restaurant in Los Angeles, on the other hand, charges $230 for something called a Tomahawk Steak. For 230 bucks, I expect the teepee and a squaw for the night. 

Still hungry? The King Crab at another L.A. joint, Angler, will set you back 880 smackers. Let me spell that out: Eight hundred-eighty. I'd rather spend it on four Tomahawk Steaks, with or without the squaw.

How creepy would this be staring at you from the
next table over?

Le Bilboquet, then, would be a mere bag of shells. And what really sealed the deal was that they counted Ivanka Trump as a regular. 

Not that I wanted to see her or her slumlord husband. But because when the inevitable rejection appeared in my inbox, I would write back a huffy note. Something like, I see. You allow the daughter of our racist, Russian-loving, idiot president, but my law-abiding wife and I are diner-non-grata. Thanks for the heads up. Now I know where to send Antifa the next time they're itching to break some windows.

That would show 'em, eh? Well, not really, because if they don't want you, they don't bother replying. 

Big deal. I would never go to restaurant I couldn't pronounce anyway.

                                                  ******************