Visited the much-lauded Courgette restaurant on Saturday night, my second time there in just 3 months. When I arrived with my fiance and my father-in-law-to-be, I opened the doors for everyone and we got in from the freezing cold outside. The ‘greeter’ woman (whatever fancy restaurants call those people [ED – Maître de]) could not have looked down on me more.
I am usually a well-presented young man, and this night was not really much of an exception – nice shirt, nice jumper, leather shoes and… jeans. Clean ones, mind you, but jeans nevertheless. This woman looked me up and down, then basically stared daggers at my jeans.. before huffily asking ‘do you have a reservation?’ We did and had done so for a few weeks, so we were seated quickly and provided with the wine list.
After this rather nasty introduction to Courgette, the rest of the night went very well. The food was amazing and the service was impeccable. If only they didn’t put the most judgmental $40K/year woman at the door.
We noticed that several patrons that even also wore jeans, it wasn’t just me. Still, I was made to feel like dirt even though I was shelling out very good money for the evening.
Remember love, you’re just a waitress.