We went to our first restaurant in the city a few nights back. When we attempted to sit down at a table the waiter, seeing four decently dressed, not repulsive looking (if you allow me the indulgence to say so myself) Americans, decided that having us sit in the front of the restaurant would negatively effect the sophisticated ambiance of the establishment created by the 'dapper', 60-something, sweaty Russian gentleman with the massive hookah on their table, and conveniently moved us to a table behind a column - for our dining pleasure. Before dinner we ordered drinks. I indulged myself with a lovely red wine. Though it didn't say so on the menu I imagine it was a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, 1997 Vintage as it tasted like a drop of vodka mixed with Robitussin and a crushed Maraschino cherry. Granted, not knowing local customs or having the keen intellect necessary to properly convert things by 30, I realized after we left that we ended up leaving a tip of about $3 on a more than $50 meal. Maybe he was right to put us in the back after all.
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