I'd rope someone into coming with me, get decked out for the occasion and go blow a huge wad of cash. Rarely did I have any concrete recollections afterward. I'd get too overwhelmed by the general ritz of the dining room, not to mention the blinding surge of adrenaline that came from spending so much money at once. Then I started waitressing in one. Perhaps it was the repeated effort to explain the menu selections in vivid detail, trying to verbally conjure what the diner could expect on her plate, or perhaps I just needed to spend several months smack in the middle of a ritzy dining room before I could stop being overwhelmed by it.
Fancy restaurants are really about the food.
The real point is not the springiness of your seat cushion, but that piece of foie gras seared to perfection. Once I understood that, and tasted that foie gras, I was hooked. Fancy food may be sustenance, but it's also incredibly intricate. A chef ponders the combinations of tastes and textures she will compose into dishes. All these traits get distilled into mounds of edible loveliness that come scooting through the dining room from the kitchen, just for you.