My tenth birthday was special. I went first to Saks to get a Givenchy dress, red with blue piping, along with a pair of Cherokee wedges, and then a quick walk to Tipperary for a hair cut and blow dry. I felt really pretty. It was the spring of 1980.
My Dad and I went to Ma Maison where Wolf had made me a special dinner. The appetizer was escargot, but in a box, like a jack in the box only it was made of delicious buttery puff pastry that sopped up the buttery garlic sauce without getting soggy. If I close my eyes I can taste it now. My father sipped champagne and I had Perrier with grenadine from a champagne flute. There were appetizers, salads, and finally a beautiful whole poached salmon exquisitely wrapped in pastry dough, served with a dill sauce.
The man at the next table asked our waiter if he could please have the same dish for his dinner. The waiter was apologetic and a bit embarrassed to tell Dudley Moore that it wasn’t on the menu and wasn’t available to him.
At ten I acknowledged that I was an elitist, and I came to clearly understand the value of scarcity.