I was proud to serve as President of Les Dames d’Escoffier. Every year we honored a star from our dining and drinking galaxy.
I had stumbled across the writings of M.F.K. and applauded her description as “America’s epicure laureate.” I unhesitatingly chose M.F.K. when it was my turn to choose the honoree for our annual dinner.
The New York Public Library private dining room was the destination for the event. A committee formed to plan the evening. Tables were set with beautiful floral cloths on which her books were the centerpieces.
I stepped into the library elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. At that instant, a seemingly homeless woman shuffled through the closing doors.
“Crumbs!,” I thought.
What could I say? “GRRUMPH! Madam! This is a private dinner. Buzz off?”
No, I couldn’t possibly say that.
But what? How could I explain the situation politely?
It took only a moment to arrive at the destination.
The host of the hospitality committee stepped forward to greet us.
“Welcome! Welcome. Ms. Fisher!,” she gushed.