Seeing as we're all sticking up posh restaurant sketches, here's one I wrote a while ago that I could never get to work. Some friends did some rewrites that improved it, but it still never really got off the ground for me.
[Restaurant atmos. Early 19th century Parisian restaurant, if that's even possible]
RESTAURATEUR: Gaston, I trust you acted at the pinnacle of professionalism with that gentleman on the table by the window.
GASTON: Yes, I treated that diner with the utmost attention and waited upon him to the best of my abilities.
R: It is well done. M. Brillat-Savarin is a great gourmand, epicure, gastronome and...food...man. His presence here is great news for our restaurant, although he does have a reputation of being difficult to please, so I trust - oh, mon dieu, he is beckoning me over. I had better see if I can mollify him. [Footsteps, the brightly] M. Brillat-Savarin! How delightful to see you, everything to your satisfaction, I trust.
BRILLAT-SAVARIN: I am indubitably not well, Monsieur. I have only been in your establishment some ten minutes, and I have already compiled quite a litany of criticisms. Firstly, who is that man who seated us?
R: Gaston? He is my head waiter, a greatly prized asset to the restaurant.
B: Gaston? Well, he could have mentioned it.
R: Monsieur?
B: I like my servers to inform me of their names before anything else transpires, it's of the foremost importance. How can I relate to my server unless I know his name?
R: Your what, monseiur?
B: Server, man! My server. It is a far more pleasing term than waiter, do you not think?
R: Nnnnnnnghh...Yes?
B: Quite so. Now, onto the specifics. Gaston asked if I would like anything to drink.
R: I see you selected the claret, Monsieur, a very fine-
B: Never mind all that. He should have asked me if I wanted anything to drink *at all*.
R: I see. Erm, can one have gradations of wanting a drink?
B: It is the correct manner of address. A server must ask whether a client desires something at all, see to it in future. Now, onto this menu; what constitutes it?
R: The finest ingredients I could source here in Paris, I can assure-
B: Yes yes, I mean what's the menu made from?
R: Some...paper?
B: Indeed. Is there no way you could introduce some method of making it slippery to the touch?
R: I had never really considered it, monsieur.
B: You have to prepare it so that you can wipe it clean and reuse it, should I spill some of my viands thereupon. Some sort of lacquer would suffice.
R: You desire I should varnish my menus?
B: Excellent. Either that or use some cured intestine wall, it's up to you. So long as it's sort of slippery.
R: But, monsieur, our menu changes every day, there is no need to encase it in a transparent gloss. Our chef spends much thought and care on creating a unique menu each morning.
B: Not any more he won't, you'll use this one.
R: Very well. We shall take all your observations on board. Now, monsieur, are you ready to order?
B: Order? Are you insane, man?
R: You have been perusing the menu some time, monsieur, I thought perhaps you had made a decision, but I am of course happy to leave you to read it further.
B: I've read it. Oh, yes, I've read the bloody thing. But I can't see the pictures.
R: It...it may be because there are none, monsieur.
B: I fear it may well. So, let's not waste any time. Here's a pen, draw me some.
R: Monsieur?
B: Illustrate the menu. Here, where it says, Poulet des Basques, I want you to draw it.
R: But monsieur knows what Poulet des Basques looks like.
B: Not this precise one. Get sketching, pally.
R: Well, I hardly...Very well [scratchy nib sounds]. There. I fear the actual dish shall resemble it only slightly.
B: Of course, that's how I want it. Now, colour it in....No, not like that! Do it too much. Do the yellows so they look like greens, the greens so they approach blues, and the reds so they look like the six suns exploding in your eyelids. There, now we are finally edging towards a real restaurant experience. I shall have the veal, get to it.
R: I regret not, monsieur.
B: Why the devil not?
R: Because it is now one minute past two. We stop serving this menu at two o'clock precisely. We start again at four fifteen, but for now I can't serve you.
B: Can I get no sustenance at all?
R: Well, you can order something off the kids' menu, and eat it in the lobby. Oh, but we do have a special early bird late lunch super saver deal especially for eminent lawyers and essayists.
B: Wonderful, I shall have that.
R: You can't, it's Sunday. You can have some crisps. Twenty francs...it's a meal deal with a bottle of chateau Boncourt. Except we've not got any. But you still have to pay the same. And sit in the back by the bins.
B: You, monsieur, are a huge, bloody great....genius! I love this establishment. I shall sing your praises all over Paris.
R: Very good, monsieur.
B: Oh, and those ugly scarlet caps you make the servers wear? See if you can construct them from a material that irritates the scalp and makes them sweat into the food, will you?
R: Way ahead of you, Jean. Now, get out. And don't you dare touch that bowl of mints, it's for decoration only.