The Brewster

               Upon the suggestion of a trusted friend, I drove the 30 minutes to Cazenovia to eat dinner at the Brewster Inn.  For those of you have never been to the Brewster, I strongly recommend that you put it near the top of your priority list of places to try.
            After I mistakenly asked the inn's concierge instead of the hostess to be seated, my friend and I were guided to the dining room, which overlooks Cazenovia Lake.  We sat at a two-person table, surrounded by tables predominantly occupied by a middle-aged to older crowd.
               My friend and I elected to eat from the Tavern menu as it was slightly gentler on our wallets, though not by much (http://www.thebrewsterinn.com).  To save even more, we passed on salads and shared one appetizer instead (saving us about $15).  As we cut into our Scallop and Lobster (stuffed corn crepe with a Tahitian vanilla bean beurre blanc) served on a single plate, I looked up to an adjacent table where four adults simultaneously turned away, as if they had just been watching us.  Now, I have chosen to call them adults so as to make the distinction that they themselves seemed to be making with their subsequent whisperings and upturned noses.  Although I would not claim that my friend and I represent the most sophisticated strata of the population, (and I will admit that perhaps my friend's rainbows and my tie-dyed leggings may not have been the best choices for this particular restaurant), their stares clearly indicated their displeasure with our presence in this restaurant on the lake.
                When my friend took a bite directly from the appetizer platter, without first letting it rest on his small appetizer plate, one of the ladies wearing a chunky black necklace with more mass than there was food on her plate, visibly shielded her face in disgust.  When we got a second basket of bread, she rolled her eyes.
                Though her attitude was less than welcoming, I couldn't help but consider the culture surrounding fine dining.  I seldom encounter such a blatant manifestation of snootiness, but that does not lead me to believe that it does not exist.  For some, perhaps expensive cuisine is a demarcation of their hard work and an excuse to be surrounded by like-minded people.  Perhaps fine dining represents a subdued class distinction that they don't get to outwardly flaunt in many other public spaces.  But I still could not address my growing self-conciousness that I was somehow interrupting their dinner just by enjoying the same nuanced cuisine.
                For dinner, I had the prime soft-shelled crabs (pan-fried with over roasted tomatoes, lemon caper sauce and garlic mash potatoes), and my friend had the mushroom chèvre ravioli (tossed with a Neopolitan pomodoro sauce).  We shared lava cake for dessert.  We left with a doggy bag full of bread.
                During the ride home I wondered about that lady and her inevitably lesser experience. And it hit me, the culture of fine dining is one that appreciates a holistic experience.  The soft lighting, the swaying dock through the window, the display case of bottle openers - all of this is a part of fine dining.   And my friend and I probably could have donned a pair of sperries or pearl earrings, or eaten off the appetizer plates instead of straight from the appetizer platter - something to have experienced the reality of this food culture, albeit disappointingly closed-minded at times.  So, while I do think that the adjacent table could have worked a little bit harder to have a better collective attitude, I will admit that maybe eating out in general can be thought of in a way that is more immersive than simply filling your stomach with some good eats that you don't have to cook yourself.  And perhaps my friend and I could have also paid a little more attention to ourselves and the atmosphere we agreed to be a part of, although I doubt my friend would have ditched his rainbows in the end.