Pie in the face to J. Elfmont! (Calendar Letters, Jan. 4).
About a year ago, we--two friends somewhat past our salad days, but still mainstreaming--decided to see for ourselves what the Calendar-and-Gourmet -praised 7th Street Bistro had to offer.
As we entered, Venus as hostess finally noticed us as we were practically invisible in all the emptiness around us.
"Yes?" she queried. I checked behind me to see if a turnip had followed me in, since her look suggested there was a load of them in the vicinity. No Gucci bags--but hey, we weren't wearing polyester pantsuits either.
"Lunch?" we inquired. After a long review of a paper on her appointment dais, she consulted a formally suited gent to her right who refused to even look at us.