Ages ago, I spent a year waiting tables in the restaurant of a high-end club where fine dining was the norm. You see all versions of appalling when you work at any restaurant, but the eyebrows shoot up especially fast in places that have orchids in the foyer and a maitre d' who actually makes eye contact. For any diner who barks out for another Long Island iced tea with his carpaccio, you can bet your sweet cheeks there's a line of waiters shooting one another looks around the corner, as are the people at most tables within earshot. You just don't want to be that guy.
You also don't want to be the schmo taking pictures of your entire 24-course meal at Alinea for your food blog. (And I mean EVER.) After trolling through three sites today that did just that, it's clear this happens often enough in America's temple of molecular gastronomy that a discreet pat-down of guests before seating might be nice. What can I say to these dorks except that they're not only entirely missing the point of the experience, they're totally annoying the crap out of the other lovely people in the room who get it.
So now it makes perfect sense why Greg Achatz published a cookbook that's impossible to use. To get a few losers to put their iPhones away.