I just ran across a pretty hilarious article in the NY Times documenting some of the inappropriate drunken behavior that regularly occurs at New York’s finest restaurants. Apparently, rich people get wasted and puke on themselves too. I’ve never seen anything like what is described in this article happen Portland, but I don’t spend all that much time in fine dining settings, and I’ve never served in one. (I could tell you some stories about the Rialto… but I doubt any of them would be all that surprising.) I did once ruin a particularly poignant going-away dinner at Le Pigeon by accidentally getting wasted next door at rontoms while we were waiting for our table—I had to go sit in the car while my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend had our dinner boxed up. Still regret that one. (The leftovers did make the best hangover breakfast ever.) But compared to some of the shit described in this article, I’m a regular model of decorum:

THE Bordeaux was flowing, the foie gras abundant and the well-heeled epicures at Daniel were having a refined old time when suddenly all eyes turned toward a table against one wall and all conversation ceased.

Jean-Luc Le Dû, a sommelier in the restaurant, looked in that direction, too. And he saw her: the woman making like a dancer on a pole at Scores.

She stood facing the rest of the dining room. First she took off a vest or a jacket, as best Mr. Le Dû remembers. Then she went to work on her blouse.

Anybody ever witnessed anything like this in town?