Anybody who's survived eight decades deserves to be treated like the heirloom he is: still in decent condition, if a little scuffed at the edges. A dinner at the opulent Four Seasons Resort will act on this antique like a good coat of Minwax. By the time Grandpa has meandered through five or seven courses courtesy of Chef Hubert Des Marais, with their accompanying wine pairings, he'll be polished to a lustrous sheen. The restaurant known as "The Restaurant" — with all the hushed reverence the title implies, as one might utter the term "The Queen" — is a place calculated to smooth wrinkles and quell creeping senescence: At dusk, the light falling through those high windows is graciously mellow, and waiters in dark suits seem to divine one's needs by sniffing the lily-scented air. The noise level rarely rises above a faint murmur and rustle. Chef Des Marais sends out plate after plate of exquisite tastings derived from local flora and fauna and from the fruit and herb garden he's cultivated at the hotel for years. They say from night to night, he almost never repeats a dish. As for the old man, a final glass of 40-year-old port will make him feel like he could live another half-century.