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Excerpt:
In spite of the excellent restaurants and faces that have sprung up in major cities, people still enjoy an evening at dinner in someone else's home, served on nice china with real linens, in a pleasant quiet setting, with good conversation, decent wine, without loud rock music, check, tax or tip...it's civilized. Yet who wants to spend days shopping, cooking, fussing, when it so quickly disappears? When there is no help to chop, prepare, and serve, when it will never be as good as Daniel or Bouley? And when one is left with dirty dishes? (an unsolvable existential problem)
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