Time was, the ultimate honour for any ambitious chef was to gain a Michelin star or two. Better still, three. But these days, the world of fine dining is in a state of flux. Far from going to any lengths to schmooze critics or diners, restaurateurs are taking them on, from publicly berating customers who don’t spend enough to ejecting anyone who even threatens to leave an unfavourable review.

Nowhere is this gear change more noticeable than in attitudes towards the esteemed “red book”, the Michelin Guide. Last October, Giglio, a restaurant in the Italian town of Lucca, asked for its star to be removed from the guide. It had become a burden, according to co-owner, Benedetto Rullo. Many diners were deterred by the prospect of “fussy” food and a formal atmosphere. “One should be able to go to a fine restaurant in a T-shirt, flip-flops and shorts,” Rullo said.

This year in France, the chef Marc Veyrat took the unprecedented step of banning Michelin inspectors from his eponymous new restaurant in the super-chic ski resort of Megève. It must be said that Veyrat has form with Michelin. In 2019, at his previous restaurant, he was outraged to have one of his three stars removed. The reason? Inspectors accused him of using cheddar in a soufflé. Imagine! Rather than taking it on the chin, Veyrat took Michelin to court. He lost the case and Michelin called him “a narcissistic diva”.

I went to Michelin-starred restaurants as a kid. I think I want to one as an adult, though I don’t specifically recall if they had one or more. The bill was nonetheless $600 for four people (in 2007). That’s an unsustainable business model, so I can see why some restaurateurs want out of the system.

The service was excellent, and they kept serving us apertifs well after closing time. We finally realized we were needlessly keeping the waitstaff on past shift end and called it a night. Amazing meal, but the context was my college roommate fast-tracked a passport application for me so that my first honeymoon – in St. Lucia – could be effectuated.

Once we were back in the states, we offered to thank him by treating him and his girlfriend to dinner at one of Seattle’s finest restaurants (a favourite of my grandfather). When he saw the prices, he quietly turned to me and said, “Do you really want to eat here and not know what the Wagyu steaks are like? We’ll split the bill.”

And the steak was absolutely worth $75. And the unordered mushroom bisque starter would later become the basis for a Thanksgiving staple (I emailed Canlis for a recipe, which they were happy to provide an approximation of at restaurant scale). But that’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, not “Hey, hon, where do you want to eat tonight?”