(I know they are just doing their job when they ask for such things, but I did point out that I had no interest in hanging out at the bar, and that I could well do without any alcoholic beverages at dinner.) I also noted I had a reservation. I realized that typically the person at the door, let's call him the greeter, is someone who recognizes me on sight (he has been a greeter at various establishments in New York City for the past ten years or so). Anyway, the man I was talking to could not have cared less. I thought of telling him that I would be 41 years old in five months, i.e. 20 years older than the age he was ostensibly asking me to prove. I could have expressed frustration: in all these years no one at this venue ever asked me for ID when I sought entry. Shouldn't consistency count for something? I knew though, that the issue was simply providing identification and, alas, I had none. Giving up, off we went to a delicious meal around the corner at Five Points. (I guess I felt vindicated because my friends, J&F, wanted to try the first venue, which is popular on Tuesday nights. I had protested on the basis of past experience that the only thing worse than the food at this nameless place was its miserable, absentee service. I said nameless, not link-less.) The courteous Maitre d' at Five Points seated us without batting an eye. I had a nice cold glass of Reisling and a plate of seared scallops (smothered in butter, but somehow not overwhelmed by it) and got all caught up with J&F.