It has all the attributes you look for in a fancy place: French chef named Pierre, gorgeous, secluded waterfront location, fantastic food, parking lot filled with Mercedes', Porches', Lamborghinis, my 1994 Ford Aerostar. And, snooty waiters.
Normally, I might order a scotch or white wine, but that night I just wanted a simple beer.
Me: "Do you have any Japanese beer?"
Waiter: "Excuse me?"
Me: "Japanese beer. You know Asahi or Sapporo?"
Waiter (sighing condescendingly): "Sir, we are a French restaurant."
Me: "Are we? Oh. I see."
I quickly skimmed the wine list.
"I guess I'll just have a glass of the Chilean white, then."
I'm pretty sure he spat in my food.
I've heard that French cuisine is all about the sauce.