“Oh My God, is that Salman Rushdie?”, I asked Michaela, pointing the older man taking a seat, as we waited only briefly in line for dinner at Balthazar’s Restaurant. As she looked over to confirm, I remembered that moment from “Bridget Jones Diary” where Bridget met Mr Rushdie at a book launch, and as she had no idea what to talk to him about, asked him where the toilet was.… Read the rest