He invited me to dinner with his family one night. They lived in one of the nicer homes in town and were a relatively sophisticated family. Higher end kind of material, if you get my drift. The publisher’s wife was a published author and weekly columnist and the paper had been in her family for generations. Old money. His sister and her husband sat across from me at the dining room table which was adorned with fine linen, elaborate silverware and stemware. She was with child. We sipped expensive wine while awaiting the filet mignon treats the publisher was grilling outside. I recall it was a rather frigid night and it was very toasty inside. I must say, I have never had a finer filet in my life, to this day. It was nicely charred on the outside and pink and juicy in the middle. We all began complimenting the chef for doing such a great job. I never thought of him as being such an accomplished cook.
All of a sudden, his wife blurted out that, yes, for being in the freezer over a year, they were surprisingly fresh tasting. She had worried about freezer burns. Had she not said a word, I wouldn’t have known. Some things should be left unsaid.
"Good Bernaise," I said, as I savored the tasty meat.
"Oh, it's just one of those packaged sauces," she replied.
It didn't make me feel all tingly inside, but the intimacy they shared made me feel as if I was part of the family. At least, I knew I was no stranger in their house. And, having grown up in a very middle class family, this was my first taste of the world of the elite, and I learned a valuable lesson. Even rich people poop.