When it comes to dining, this new dog restaurant has the right idea

A new restaurant in the French town of Lyon has just opened, specialising in serving meals for dogs. Referencing the French enthusiasm for gastronomy, the restaurant is called Dogstronomy and offers “a real restaurant experience”, according to Ornella Del Prado, owner and chef.

Instead of tables and chairs, there are stainless-steel platforms placed at dog height. The birthday cakes feature fillings of meat. The ice-cream is flavoured with sardines.

Here, though, is the detail that intrigued me: Sunday brunch is priced, in terms of Australian dollars, at a varying rate of $26 to $42 depending on the size of the dog.

What an excellent innovation, and one that can be so easily extended to the world of human dining. As a larger man, I am forced to admit the unfairness of the current arrangements. I’ll share a dinner with some dear friends at a restaurant and I’ll eat heartily. An entree, as well as the main course? Don’t mind if I do. And what about dessert? Well, it couldn’t hurt.

Meanwhile, friends of a more reasonable size are gnawing daintily on a single chop before announcing that they are “completely full, couldn’t eat another thing.”

“Well,” I say, “at least you’ll have another glass of wine,” as I duly order another bottle, the bulk of which I then scoff myself.

At the end of the meal, as custom dictates, the bill is shared equally. Even as a beneficiary of this system, I say: “Enough”. Let the new traditions of Dogstronomy be our guide. The larger the diner, the more you pay.

I know some will have privacy concerns, but the necessary weighing machine will be discretely installed behind a curtain, just inside the restaurant door. Each patron will have their weight measured, the figure used to calculate their percentage contribution to the weight of the whole group. The bill will be divided accordingly.

“Ah, yes”, I hear my critics say, “but what if you have a larger chap who is big-boned, and doesn’t actually eat that much? Or a person who, after a lifetime in the good paddock, is now attempting, this very night, to cut back?”

Here we must reach out to the English town of High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire which, since 1678, has publicly weighed its mayor at the commencement and completion of their time in office. Any weight gain is announced to the crowd, who can then judge the extent to which the mayor has been living high on the hog at taxpayers’ expense.

A similar method could easily be introduced into Sydney’s bustling restaurant scene, with a brief and discrete weighing session at the beginning and the end of every meal. Certainly, this method will not identify the lobster-lover or caviar-consumer among those present, but it would certainly identify the person – I speak here of myself – who ordered all three courses, plus the garlic bread, and I don’t suppose you could manage a couple of extra plates of chips.

Let the new traditions of Dogstronomy be our guide. The larger the diner, the more you pay.

Speaking of those skinnier than myself, I also have sympathy for the moderately-sized airplane traveller. If 100-kilo me pops up with a 20-kilo suitcase, there’s nothing to pay. Off you go, sir, enjoy your trip. But the 70-kilo traveller who presents with 50 kilos of luggage is met with all manner of tut-tutting, followed by a bill that will drain the blood from their face.

Is this fair? The two travellers, plus luggage, weigh identical amounts. They both represent the same burden when it comes to aviation fuel. Surely all travellers should be required to hop on the scales, alongside their luggage, and be judged on the total?

Of course, the larger person needs a few wins when it comes to this reordering of society. Leg-room on planes is the obvious starting point.

The shorter person lolls in their economy class seat. They could do a session of Pilates and never trouble the seat in front. Meanwhile, the taller person – I speak again of myself – has their knees around their ears, as if attempting some bizarre position in the Kama Sutra.

Luna Park has cardboard cutouts outside every ride. If you are not as tall as the cutout, you cannot ride. The same device could be located at check-in. If your legs are longer than those of the cardboard figure, you score a ride up front with extra legroom. If not, it’s crunch time for you.

I offer another useful concession to the larger person. When it comes to election campaigns, the tallest candidate nearly always wins the popular vote. It’s been the case, for instance, in 67 per cent of all US presidential elections.

Think of the savings if we just ditched all political campaigns and instead asked the candidates to stand in front of a tape measure. Victory to the tallest.

Not only would this new system save money, under its rules Al Gore would have beaten George W. Bush in the 2000 US election and the Middle East would still be a calmer place.

The only thing left to contemplate is how Al Gore would have spent the money derived from his presidential perks. He’d have gone out to dinner with friends, of course, and gleefully shouldered his giant-sized share of the bill.

Just like the big dogs of Dogstronomy.

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