How far Lyndon Baines Johnson had come from that desolate stretch of Texas Hill Country where he spent his boyhood and early manhood, from that hardscrabble life in a clapboard farmhouse on the Pedernales River. He had ascended to the House of Representatives, and then to the Senate, and next to the vice-presidency, and next, next to the presidency; and, then, next, then, then, next, to that rectangular hibachi table of a small restaurant in midtown Manhattan, its grills a sizzling smorgasbord of steak and shrimp and chicken, where the President would be dining. Its name: Benihana. Read more at VanityFair.com.
Source: Vanity Fair.
