The place was unfamiliar to me. Observation was not. I had entered intending to eat, but the table had other plans. Porcelain beneath porcelain, silk napkins, polished cutlery, suspended wine, and a waiter waiting patiently beside it all. Every movement seemed choreographed, every clink carrying its own little announcement of refinement. Then someone took a bite, paused, chewed, paused again, and finally began: “I think… perhaps…” The entire table waited. So did I.