Chapter 04: April, Or, Of Reservations and Revelations

“Good morning! Victoria and Albert’s speaking - my name is Danielle - how may we serve you?”

I’ve been pacing my tiny office for the longest five minutes ever. My computer’s clock reads “6:57 AM.” The sky outside shows glimpses of light through the cloud cover and I press two fingers to an aching temple. It’s been a long day already.

 “Yes, hey Danielle. My name is James, and I’d like to reserve the Chef’s Table for Saturday, October 13th.”

 This was a long shot.

 Allow me to explain. First things first, Victoria and Albert’s is without question the most expensive and exclusive restaurant that Disney owns. It’s one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants by any measure, a seven-to-ten-course hurricane of 19th century French opulence and service. This is the sort of restaurant where courses rest in their own private fog banks that creep across your table, and where one finds cuts of beef from cattle fed rice wine and massaged until slaughter. Each meal is a complex production where the supporting cast is quail egg and mushroom cappuccino and savory hypnosis of the nose.

 Meals at Victoria and Albert’s are not eaten. They are experienced.

 This also makes reservations damn hard to come by. And here I am, precisely six months in advance of my day - without even any hotel reservations, park or plane tickets, or any other plans whatsoever - trying to get a seat in the most exclusive room of the most exclusive restaurant. Guess how many Chef’s Tables there are at V&As. One - just one.

But I, as far as I know, am the first one asking for it. It’s why I’ve been carpet bombing their phone all morning. A reservation at all is nigh-on impossible to get to in this place.

 “I’m sorry, sir, but the Chef’s Table is already booked.” I quirk an eyebrow at this. Wait. Taken? How is this possible? I’m the first one allowed to make reservations here. This is the start of the 180-day window-

 “- guests with prior hotel reservations paid in full have an additional 10 days to reserve seats,” says my receptionist, Danielle, completing the sentence she’d begun while I wasn’t paying attention.

 “Well, do you have any spots in the main dining room?” I ask.

 Danielle considers a moment. I can hear the faint chatter of typing from her end. “Yes, we can seat you there. And we will put you on the waiting list in case the Chef’s Table opens up again.”

 “Thank you,” I say, although I’m not hopeful. If someone reserved it one hundred and ninety-four days in advance, it stands to reason they wouldn’t be giving it up. Of course, it’s hard to be too disappointed, as my plan will work regardless of location in V&A’s. And really, when the regular room is $135 a head and extraordinarily exclusive, who can complain too much?

 “Yes, thanks, that’ll be great,” I tell Danielle. “And please let me know if anything comes up.”
 I don’t have long to wait.

A week later, I walk into my office from a morning meeting and my phone shows I’ve missed a call, complete with voicemail.

 Danielle, from Victoria and Albert’s.

 Thirty seconds later, I’m pacing the tiny room waiting for them to answer. Please pick up, I say in my mind. Please.

 “Good morning! Victoria and Albert’s speaking this is - “
 “- Danielle?” I blurt. My tongue is ahead of my brain. “Er, sorry about that. I see I, ah, missed a call from you and when I heard your voicemail - “ At this, my fatigued brain gives a momentary pause, enough for the cool and collected Danielle to swoop in and rescue the conversation.

 “Yes, Mr. Cotton, excellent news. We’re pleased to say that the Queen Victoria Room is still open. Would you like to reserve - “

 “Yes.” There I go again. “Sorry again, Danielle.” She laughs, quite politely. I’m certain she’s spent hours honing that at Disney boot camp. “Quite all right, Mr. Cotton. We get that a lot. I’ll put you down for the Queen Victoria room, Saturday evening, October 13, 2012.”

 “Thank you so much,” I tell her. We exchange a few more service-industry pleasantries, but to be honest, my speech mechanisms are pretty much on Politeness Autopilot at that point. I’m floored. Whatever Disney voodoo spirit has been playing with me has clearly nudged me in the right direction.

There are, after all, regular seats in Victoria and Albert’s, and then there is the Queen Victoria Room. I’ve read the description, but in my myopic frenzy, I never considered the most opulent room of the most opulent restaurant. How could I have overlooked THAT room? For starters, there is exactly one seating per night. Four tables, ten courses, two waiters apiece - who could be sous chefs at lesser restaurants - and unparalleled service. The price is head-spinningly high - two hundred ten dollars a head, before tax, before tip, before any form of alcohol. But then again, this is a once in a lifetime moment.
 “Do it once,” I tell myself, “do it right.”

 Now, all I need is, well, the rest of the vacation to line up perfectly around that event.