The Patient Was…

Dining is about more than consuming food, while eating is usually just that. Dining conveys an emotional experience, a special context, an aspect of socialization, often of celebration. Dining is concerned with presentation, ambience, setting and context. It is usually memorable in one way or another. Dining has been part of some of the most remembered experiences of my medical career.

I was the honored guest at a dinner in a former royal castle in the United Kingdom. I had traveled over from my home in New York City to consult on the medical care of a highly placed English patient, and the dinner was to celebrate that role and my attendance. The butler assigned to me had gone through my clothing and laid out my darkest suit, most highly starched shirt, somberest tie, and fanciest black shoes. How did he know what I wanted to wear, I wondered. He knew what I should wear, I realized. When I came down the grand staircase to the dining area, I saw that all the guests were in formal evening clothes. I approached my host and said, quietly, “I didn’t know I should bring formal wear.” He looked down his patrician nose and replied in a haughty tone, “Oh, that’s all right, doctor. Our American friends never know.”

The setting was Beijing, China, which I had visited on many occasions, most related to medical affairs of one sort or another. On each occasion, I was taken to dinner by a Chinese gentleman, whom I had met on one of my early trips to The People’s Republic. We usually went to places that were not too fancy, but were certainly above the level of typical local eateries. On one occasion, he had to cancel on our dinner, and sent his son in his place to escort me. I had briefly met this young man before, and he had none of his father’s charm and sophistication. He said he was going to take me to an “authentic” restaurant for a “real” Chinese meal. We walked quite a bit and then arrived at the kind of dive I would have avoided anywhere, not just in China. When we entered and the mostly young patrons saw me, the room went silent; I suspect many had not seen a white foreigner before, and certainly not in this place. A waiter stopped in his tracks and stared at me. Then, with a palm held up as if to say “Wait,” he disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later he reappeared, holding aloft a metal fork with bent tines. With a smile he handed it to me, then led us to a table. My friend’s son spoke to him in Chinese, then said to me, “It’s the only one they have.”

The patient was larger than life in many ways, and his extravagances included a devotion to fine, elaborate, and overwhelmingly expensive dining experiences. At the time, there was a restaurant in New York City that proudly proclaimed that it was the most expensive restaurant in the world. (It no longer exists). The multi-course tasting menu was price-fixed at $1,000 (one thousand dollars) per person. Wines, served with each course, were extra. Because my patient frequented the place, he was allowed to bring his own wines from his extensive collection. The first time he invited my wife and me to dinner there, we arrived on time but neither he nor his wife were anywhere to be seen. Within minutes, other people whom we had never met were shown to our table. After a brief, awkward silence we all introduced ourselves and started a lively conversation. About forty minutes later, the host and his wife arrived. “Have you figured why you are all here?” he asked. None of us had figured it out. “You’re all the doctors who keep me and my family going,” he explained. “Here’s my cardiologist,” he continued, pointing at me. “And here’s my urologist, my dentist, and the pediatrician for my kids.” I had been introduced to other doctors at dinners before, but never at a thousand dollars a plate.

The setting for dinner was one of the fanciest, iconic hotels in Los Angeles, long associated with Hollywood and the movie industry. As a consultant to a small company, I had flown out to California to inspect the laboratory where an inventor was developing a new technology that could have really revolutionized cardiology care for patients undergoing invasive treatments for coronary heart disease. It was a new kind of device to open clogged blood vessels so that blood could flow through the coronary arteries and supply the heart muscle with fresh, oxygenated blood. It was actually my third and final visit on the same quest, and I came away convinced that successful development of the technology was at best a remote possibility. I put the chances for ultimate FDA approval and successful marketing of the device at around one percent. I wanted to tell the company chairman before he made any representation to the key investors whom he had invited to the fancy dinner. He kept putting me off, and the first chance I had to talk to him was at the dinner itself where I was seated next to him. As the champagne flowed, I finally got his attention and bluntly told him that the chances of success were really remote, perhaps one percent. He banged a spoon on his glass, got everybody’s attention, and said, “Everybody, raise your glass. This is Doctor Henry Solomon, our eminent cardiology consultant. And ladies and gentlemen, according to the doctor… WE HAVE A WINNER!”

Two dining experiences in Monte Carlo, the major municipal district in the principality of Monaco, are memorable for different reasons. My wife and I were among a thousand or so cardiologists and their spouses attending a medical meeting in Monte Carlo. I also had a role in organizing the meeting, so I had a stake in its success. The medical part of the gathering was outstanding, but it was the social events that attendees spoke about for years afterward. My wife and I were having lunch in the rooftop restaurant at one of the fanciest and newest hotels in Monte Carlo. I quickly realized that she was paying no attention to what I was saying, as her gaze was fixed on something behind me, outside the window that was behind my back. Finally, I turned around to see what was so fascinating and just a few feet away from the window were a group of beautiful women sunbathing topless around the rooftop pool which, of course, is not uncommon in many parts of Europe. I looked at my wife and uttered the only appropriate words: “Darling, change seats with me!”

The other memorable meal during that Monte Carlo sojourn took place one evening at dinner. The company that sponsored the whole meeting had taken over every restaurant in Monte Carlo and had assigned seats according to strategic marketing goals. After all, the entire meeting was in support of a new medication that had recently been approved in several countries and was awaiting approval in several more. My seating assignment was in a charming night spot, along with several other doctors and their spouses. Across the table from me was a prominent cardiologist from Canad who, at one point said to me, “I don’t know why I’m here. We don’t even have this drug in Canada.” Just at that moment, one of the sponsoring company executives who were passing among the diners said, “Don’t worry, doctor, you will!”

Karaoke is said to have started in Japan, and the person responsible is no friend of mine. I had the honor of chairing an educational conference in Shanghai with a very prominent, elegant, globally known and respected cardiology Professor from Europe. At the conclusion of the scientific program, a celebratory dinner was held. The Professor and I sat together and tried to  enjoy the entertainment which consisted of a poorly trained magician and a somewhat awkward dancer. Just as we thought the evening was over, they announced karaoke and indicated they expected us to participate. Now, I’m not a fan, but my Professor colleague was in a panic; he wanted to leave but it would have embarrassed our hosts. I promised him I would not let them involve him in the singing and that I would “take one for the team.” When they called on us, I rose, took the microphone, and selected from the English-language choices Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender.” A young Chinese doctor decided to join me, and my evening ended standing alongside a young man who gazed soulfully at me as we sang “…love me tender, love me true…” I only hope there isn’t a video of that performance circulating somewhere.

A final memorable dining example took place near my home in New York. A dear friend was celebrating a rite-of-passage event in their family with a fancy party. At the formal dinner, my wife and I were seated at a table of ten, and conversation was easy and fun, Suddenly, an elderly member of the family, who was my patient, approached our table. She stood behind me, put her hands on my shoulders, and announced to the table that I was the best doctor in the world. I was embarrassed, the others were amused, as the patient extolled my virtues. Her concluding words, in her deep Eastern European accent, are unforgettable to me: “Yes, he is a great doctor. He gave me a medicine that made me so sick I thought I would die. When I stopped it, did I feel good! And I still do.”  Devastating.

It’s fun to think back on dining experiences that had special significance for one or another reason. You’ve surely had some. Think about them again.

And savor the memories.