How French Laundry's chefs reach for the stars
“You’re wearing jeans.”
I instantly started sweating. “Yes, Chef.” “You’re not supposed to be wearing jeans. They’re not allowed in this restaurant.” My heart pounded audibly in my ears, like some distant funereal drum procession. “Yes, I know, Chef.” “You know, but you wore jeans anyway.” I couldn’t tell if this was a question or a statement. Standing there in jeans and a striped T-shirt as patrons in suits and gowns dined on the meal of a lifetime, I panicked.
