Rochelle and I just returned (on Sunday) from New York City. I went for an Important Company Meeting, and Rochelle came along to torture me and rant at my co-workers. At the end of one evening, on of them said slyly to me, “Note to self: never introduce wife to co-workers…”
The most fun thing we did was go to Les Halles for dinner on Friday night, without a reservation. When we got there it was pretty crowded, but the hostess estimated it would be 35 minutes for a table for two, and suggested we wait in the bar area.
We headed for the bar, where there was one stool available. Rochelle sat down, and then I leaned into her and whispered into her ear, “It’s him.”
“Him” was Anthony Bourdain, the executive chef, and author of Kitchen Confidential, a book Rochelle and I literally fought over while we were reading it, allowing the other to take a turn reading it only with the greatest reluctance. He was sitting on the bar stool to Rochelle’s left.
After a few moments he turned and noticed us, and then offered his seat to me. I protested, not wanting to kick the chef out of his seat, but he insisted: “It’s OK, I work here.”