The reservation was for the best seat on the island. He got it. A white-gloved waiter pours coffee at a fully dressed dining table set directly on the sand, silver service gleaming in the Caribbean sun, while the sole guest in a black tuxedo waits with the patience of a man who has never once eaten standing up. The tablecloth is pressed. The waves are indifferent. The palm trees provide adequate shade. This is fine dining taken entirely literally — as fine as it gets, and precisely where he wanted it. For rooms that understand that true luxury is not a place but a standard — maintained regardless of location, weather, or the fact that there is sand in the bread rolls.
