During World War II uniformed servicemen and women were ushered to the head of the lines of would-be diners that gathered each evening at the entrance to Antoine’s. When I presented myself there, a callow young corporal in the spring of 1945, I was seated at once. Le menu baffling me, I summoned le maître d’hôtel and handed it to him, saying, “I place myself entirely in your hands.” Would Monsieur prefer meat or fish? Fish. Avec vin? But of course. “I have twenty dollars,” I told him, and he bowed. I don’t remember what I ate or drank, but it was all delicious. I do recall most vividly that I was attended by two waiters, and whenever I sipped my wine or my water, one or the other would immediately refill my glass to the brim. L’addition avec le pourboire came to exactly twenty dollars. Merci beaucoup , Antoine’s.