Last night I went to a dinner with the CEO of an international hotel company at his New York hotel. I assumed it was going to be a press dinner to introduce his new hotel in China. The PR reps were so happy I showed up early that I got a sneak preview of the hotel. Then they tell me about dinner – it was called “Taste of New York,” a progressive dinner. I chatted up the CEO for a bit about the hotel, then they brought me into a meeting room, where the appetizers were set up.

OK, meals have appetizers. But these were amazing. There was a Peking Duck in the middle of the room, posed and looking at us, with individual plates of duck around him, and the freshest sushi I have ever eaten in my life. It melted in my mouth. Dim sum completed the spread, while a famous NYC bartender mixed his signature martini. The PR rep was quick to get me a glass of Chardonnay. I met a few other people from Dow Jones, Reuters, and an investment magazine, but the 15 or so people that were in attendence mostly belonged to the hotel group.

A British man came in and tapped his glass, inviting us into the next room. “You have just experienced a taste of Chinatown,” he said. “You will now experience a taste of Little Italy.” We were all seated around this lavishly decorated table with seashells, beach glass, and sea anemones. He opened another door, where we see a chef in a big white hat preparing the next course, ravioli, right in front of us, flames shooting from under the pan. He then presented each of us with one large ravoli filled with different cheeses and an egg/mushroom sauce. From what I heard, this ravioli goes for $50 a plate at his restaurant. To complement the ravioli, we were given a glass of expensive Chardonnay.

After we were finished with that, it was time for a taste of the Fulton Street Fish Market. Waiters came out with these plates stacked high with lobster tails, crabs, and raw oysters, with four different dipping sauces. We were given a glass of Moet champagne to complement the fish.

The man tapped his glass after we were done, and we were called into the next room for a taste of the Meatpacking District. Filet mingon, deep-fried mashed potatoes, asparagus, and marrow graced the plate, with a glass of Cabernet Sauvingon to round out the meal. The only experience I’ve had with bone marrow was getting it extracted from my hip before I started chemo, so I assumed the bone on the plate was a decoration. But I saw people eating the marrow with a tiny spoon, and tried some myself. It didn’t taste bad at all.

Following the meat came the salad, which wasn’t a lettuce-tomato-carrot concoction – it was all herbs, wrapped in a rice shell with dressing. After we finished that, it was time to top off the meal with the chef’s interpretation of The Big Apple. We moved into another room, where a tuxedoed man was playing the piano. Awaiting us were apple-shaped caramel cages filled with white chocolate mousse, whipped cream, and fresh raspberries, and chocolate truffles, dessert wines, and cold glasses of scotch surrounded us.

All the while, my chair was pulled out for me, I was escorted everywhere, hotel staffers kept giving me drinks. Wow, fancy stuff.

Most of the time was spent talking about traveling – I actually didn’t get much information about the hotel itself, but did make key industry contacts. I was having so much fun that I didn’t realize I had missed my 8:30 train. The next one was at 9:30, and I only realized it at 9:15. As I left, they handed me two gifts – a Smythson “Places To Remember” book and a Bedford Downing picture frame. As I ran outside, a bellboy hailed me a cab, and I made it on my train with 15 seconds to spare and an asthma attack.

Oh, I so love having the international beat for the magazine. I can get used to these fancy lunches and dinners and Scottish accents. The person who had the international beat before me got to go to Munich to be a panel moderator at a real estate conference, so perhaps that is in my future. I do get to travel to Miami and Washington, D.C. in September.

Who’dve thunk? I never thought I’d be writing about real estate, of all things. But it’s actually quite interesting.