Lunch at Michael's: An Oral History

Joe Armstrong, publishing industry insider, former ABC News advisor, and "The Mayor of Michael's": I used to go a lot to the Four Seasons and Russian Tea Room, but I was always looking for a place that was very happy and full of sunshine. Even on a day in the winter when the sky is like wet cement, there is so much color in Michael's — the paintings and the flowers and the people. So I started taking people like Robin Williams and Billy Crystal, and I introduced more serious people like Walter Cronkite, Peter Jennings, and Liz Smith to the place. And a lot of them kept going on their own.

Armstrong's most famous lunch (pictured above) counted former President Bill Clinton, Robin Williams, Ann Richards, Liz Smith, and Diane Sawyer among his guests.

We sat in the window table that day, and a photographer from the New York Post ran in — past the Secret Service agent at the front desk, the one at the bar, and the ones sitting at adjacent tables — opened up his raincoat, took the picture, and ran out, and the Secret Service didn't know what happened. I turned to Clinton and said, "Boy, don't you feel safe?" And he just said, "Could I have another plate of those French fries?" and shrugged. Billy Crystal looked at me and said, "My god, somebody could have killed us." But Clinton kept eating his fries and wasn't going to worry about that.

Michael Wolff, columnist for Vanity Fair: The restaurant called me that morning and said, "We know you're coming in with [former Clinton aide] George [Stephanopoulos], but we just didn't want
there to be any awkwardness, because President Clinton will be here, too, and we know that they haven't spoken for quite some time." And I thought, "Oh, shit. Do I call him?" Because if I call George, he's not going to come. And I thought, okay, I'm not going to call him. But then I felt guilty and told my wife about it, and she said "You have to call him."

Meanwhile, of course, I had called everyone else I knew, and then I called George and I remember his reaction was, "You're kidding. No shit. I don't know if I can come. I'll have to think about it." And then I'm sure he called everybody he knew. So by the time we got there, this kind of perfect staged moment had been set up, and then it played out.

Joe Armstrong: George came over and, with goodwill, said hello. Clinton did not stand up, but he did congratulate George on getting married, asked him if he was happy, and that broke the ice between them. After that, things changed at Michael's. They put in more tables, it was packed, and there was definitely more buzz. They dubbed me "the Mayor" after that lunch and said I could sit wherever I wanted. So I chose Table 3, a great table.

Michael Wolff: You can't just ask for a table — that's completely gauche — but they must have known I liked Table 5. The day it appeared to be mine, I thought, "Oh my god, I may have a table," and then for a very long time, I wondered when I would lose it. Well, one day it happened — I called and they didn't have it. I don't remember whether I was mad or just sounded comical. But shortly thereafter, Keith Kelly called about something unrelated, and asked whether he would see me at lunch. I said, "No, because I've lost my table."

And Keith immediately understood that this was a story and replied, "Oh, so it's war?" And since I'm a person who can never let go of a chance for war, I said yes. It was finished. I've wanted to go back desperately since then, but it was also a moment in time. I often thought "this can't go on forever," because if it does, you're going to look foolish — I already did. At some point, you just have to walk away.

David Hirshey: Every generation has its literary feeding trough. In the 20's and 30's, it was the Algonquin; in the 40's and 50's, it was Toots Shor's; in the 60's, it was the Lion's Head; in the 70's and 80's, it was Elaine's; and for the past 17 years, Michael's has been the place for media and publishing types to eat — or at least eat up their expense account. The difference is, at those other establishments, drinks were often on the house; at Michael's, the best I've ever been able to do is the David Hirshey/Stanley Bing OJ rule, which stipulates that for seven bucks we can have endless refills of freshly squeezed orange juice at breakfast instead of the normal thimble.

Dominick Dunne, columnist for Vanity Fair: I go three days a week these days, just because I like the show. It's a media restaurant, not a society one. The whole idea of "society" has evolved and changed over the last couple of years, and I think media people are the most exciting people in the city — a fact that's true throughout New York social life.

Gil Schwartz: There's the Four Seasons, but it makes me a little nervous; you might end up sitting next to General Pinochet, or whoever's in town that day. It's difficult to just drop in and dart out of the Four Seasons. But Michael's is a more relaxed thing.

Michael Wolff: I don't think anyone at the Four Seasons works anymore, and obviously the people at Michael's work. Nobody has quite realized their ambition yet, and you feel that in the room; everybody is working, no one is at rest. I always marked the top of the bubble as when Laurel Touby [CEO and founder of mediabistro.com] started to show up every week. Because at that point, it became a PR exercise. I suppose it always was, to some extent, but then the in-joke of Michael's became something that outsiders began taking very seriously. That's when I realized how foolish I looked.

David Hirshey: Favorite dishes? I didn't realize they served food at Michael's. They just bring me a couple of large diet cokes, a few pickles, a plate of free cookies, and a bill for $138. Seems reasonable to me. I never thought to ask for a menu.