March 23rd, 2009
A year ago, when I still worked at Commander's Palace, I opened my first bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Whenever I introduce myself to a table that's celebrating something, I bring the wine list with me and ask if they would like to begin the evening with Champagne. Admittedly, I said it in such a manner that the subtext was "You'll buy it if you love her," but I never imagined he would choose Moët et Chandon's Prestige Cuvee.
"Oh, it's that type of party," I silently realized. This guy, his wife, and their six-year-old daughter immediatlly became my only priority. I wasn't going to let the wine-runner, or even my front-waiter handle the bottle. No one would touch it but me.
I retrieved it from the wine cellar briskly and silently. As I presented it, my gestures were grandiose and theatrical.
"Sir, the 1998 Rosé."
He nodded, before he looked into her eyes, "The year we were married."
I placed it in the bucket next to him and removed my wine-key from my rear right pocket. Now, I've opened hundreds of champagne bottles, but none of them were ten years old. The instant I cut the foil away, the cork flew into the ceiling and pink foam arced directly into his daughter's face. His eyes and lips narrowed furiously. "Oh, God," I thought. "I'm fucking fired and I look like a jackass."
As quickly as I could, I covered the top of the bottle with my serviette, but she had already been soaked by the $450 bukkake. She waved her hands emphatically above her head as she screamed, "YAYYYYYYYYY!"
I guess she thought it was suppose to happen that way.
The dining room exploded into laughter and applause. It was so adorable, the father couldn't stay mad with me. They ended up coming back and requesting my services on several other occasions before I left.
January 25th, 2006
Jesus probably looked at lot like Lenny Kravitz.
April 2nd, 2005