Beauty abounds in Paris. And it apparently gets the best table, too.
The latest “J'accuse” in the haute monde of French restaurants was launched in the satirical paper, Le Canard Enchaine. The Telegraph of London, citing the Gallic gazette, reports that ex-hostesses at two spots owned by Thierry and Gilbert Costes were directed to take the good-looking to the better seats.
If you were less Deneuve or DiCaprio than the most recent mug shots of Lohan and Nolte: voilà, Siberia! Then again, if you were Lindsay or Nick, you probably would have gotten a prime table anyway.
Celebrities were an exception, said the hostesses, one of whom already had been chastised by the tête de restaurant for not showing enough cleavage.
The Costes had no comment.
But even these restaurant owners should know that Quasimodo looked just fine against the backdrop of Notre Dame. They own Le Georges in the Pompidou Centre, the exposed charms of which still can start an argument; and Cafe Marly on the Rue de Rivoli within eyeshot of the Louvre, where the mob scene might make you prefer pyramids not made of glass.
Closer to maison, you might experience something more like automotive discrimination at restaurants on Long Island. Notice that the Italian sports car and the German marque are nearer the restaurant entrance than your much-nicked, high-mileage sedan. My old Chevy Nova used to have its space reserved in the next ZIP code.