I've been to places where the tip WAS about the service. When the ten best restaurants in the world - some kind of Michelin thing in 2001 - included just one American restaurant, I happened to have eaten at that place that year.

And. It. Was. Amazing.

The food was excellent. The wine went well, cheap and pricy both. The service is now my fucking gold standard as it was a rolling magic trick the entire time. We spoke in privacy but seemed never alone. They had what we needed when we needed it, with a superhuman awareness that I never could hope to have when I turned tables and spun plates. The waiter had hands when he needed them, who'd then disappear like ninjas in fog immediately after. Pull the course for the next and the table grooming began like infantry doing toothbrush work, focused and fast. Dessert was not taken: you never get dessert where you got your main. Coffee was suddenly lazy and hushed and introspective, steam curling up to the recessed dim warm lights high above.

The cheque came and the bistromathics forgotten. This cheque went away with embellishment the size of an hour's cab ride, each way. And twice that still. And someone needs to chase payback tomorrow but keeps a stunning souvenir tonight.

Worth every red cent. For the food was Divine but the service set the standard. And I'd do that again in a moment.