Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not usually in the shoe business. I’m not a brogue keeper, or a patent double Santa.
But when someone is having dinner at his Michelin star restaurant to celebrate the very latest Sir David David Davides, and he comes out dressed in shiny trainers – well, I’m starting to wonder when the world didn’t finally go away.
Now, Gordon Ramsay owns the place. If anyone can dictate the dress code at his table, it’s the chef—he owns it. He can work as a pigeon in the paddling pool and wear pajamas if he likes. But ownership does not equal immunity from taste. There is a line between “Relaed Color Cool” and “I gave up”. And I’m afraid, Gordon, that night it was very crowded around the coaches – in the coaches, less.
What made it even more spectacular was the company. This wasn’t a boozy mate – only dinner at the foot of the king’s road. It was a dark ceremony wrapped around Beckham’s Kinban – the culmination of a decades-long campaign of service, product management and quiet accountability. And Sir Davide, to his eternal credit, turned out to look like a walking bond franchise: razor-sharp tux, mirror-bright shoes. Even the lady’s swagger now, never deliberately tortured, is fused with old-school grace. At the table, the guests are illuminated with black and silk, the restaurant itself is a temple of beauty. Then there was Gordon, beaming with pride, I’m sure to be his close friends, but I look like he’s going straight from being passed to the team without time to get the ropes.
Let’s not kid ourselves: trainers with TUX are not a bold fashion statement. Lazy human rebellion, the sartorial equivalent of an interview spill. Once upon a time, it was rock stars and artists who broke the rules; Now it’s a million pretending it doesn’t work. And in the fixed dining room of the restaurant Gordon Ramsay, where the sauces are reduced in milliseconds and the tables are found lower than the M25, that the inequality of nonchanance is widespread.
There’s an old idea that what you wear to a dinner party says something about how much you consider the company you’re in. Dress the people you respect. Make an effort now. And when that moment is one of the most famous men in Britain, maybe oxfors won’t kill you. Beckham understood it naturally. Ramsay, Alas, looks like he has the courage to “three stars” for “Street-Food Pop-up”.
I’m not saying we should all wake up to the tailcoat. God knows no one needs more starch in their life. But some times, and this was not one, it is still necessary to suit their feeling. Knigbishtood is not just a social thing. It is a country that bleeds its wear in a life of luxury, placement in England, its involvement in the 2012 Olympics and many help including the great Kings (previously including its officials The dinner that follows should be accompanied by a spirit of respect. If the chef-keeper can’t be bothered to wear the right shoes, why should anyone else bother with the effort?
It is true, Ramsay can say that he is a fan of today’s taste, that the world of Michelin needs to be released, that work was done for dinosaurs. It is possible. But there is a world of difference between evolution and erosion. When everything becomes simple, nothing feels special. And part of the preparation of good food – and indeed honors, articles, traditions – is that they are special. That they want something more from us. A small theater. A little respect. A little Polish.
Irony is that little girl, of all people, understands accuracy. His whole kingdom was built on it – in the fighting of the sauce, the placing of the ornament, the shining of the knife. You’ll bark at a gift of scalloped scallops, but when it comes to feet, apparently anything goes. Perhaps he thought the coaches were a cheeky modern touch, a cool Wink to Coorery. But against the table of glittering glamware, bow-tied guests and the awe of Beckham’s power, it just looked … off. Like Ketchup on Foie Gras.
Then again, maybe that’s the point. Perhaps Ramsay wanted to telegraph in good food it turns out – that even at its summit, the rules are ready to be bent. But there is a risk of committing too far. Because when even the purveyors of refinement decide that an effort is chosen, the very idea of ”special” begins to stumble. And if there is anything that still needs a little bit of theater, a little bit, it’s a three-course restaurant that celebrates a newly knighted knight.
In the end, this isn’t really about the shoes. It’s about branding. Michelin stars, knigbinsod, restaurant, clothes, all speak a common language. And in that language, the coaches say something else entirely. They said: I don’t care much. And maybe that’s okay if you’re catching a flight or going out to wait. But when you humble Sir David David Beckham under CHAENDERS, it feels a little…cheap.
So, Gordon – he owns the restaurant, the name, and the night. But sometimes ownership carries responsibility. And in this event, when everyone wakes up to meet Greatur now, your shoes let you to the side. The food was authentic and faultless, the divinity of wine appeared, the conversation was bright. But those coaches? It was the only thing in the room that didn’t fit.
