You know when you have an expectation and your expectation becomes reality? I had one of those insanely, hard-to-believe experiences while I attended the Key West Literary Seminar: The Hungry Muse.

Ruth Reichl was the keynote speaker to dish about food in literature. The Taste of Language: A Toast to Toast was her speech topic. More specifically her message addressed how food, social forces and history blend together to become current food literature.

I arrived at the San Carlos Institute for the keynote address late, although it was still twenty-five minutes before the event started; the auditorium was already filled as the first weekend of the seminar was full (about 400 attendees). As I walked through the auditorium, scanning each row for a single seat, I silently prayed I didn’t get to the front then have to traverse back through the entire length of the densely packed auditorium. I arrived at the front row. There was one lone seat in the middle of the aisle-just a shade to the left of the podium. Amongst the chatter, banter and excited murmurings, I settled in, whipped out my Droid and tweeted my location for the weekend’s speeches, panel discussions and readings.

Ruth did not disappoint. I’m not sure what I expected out of that speech, but I did know that I wanted to get up close and see the most celebrated food writer at The New York Times. It seemed surreal, seeing her just a few feet away, somehow I felt as though I knew her. Which of course, I didn’t. But after reading Comfort Me with Apples, I knew that this woman could be my mentor for the book project I’m working on. So then, I knew. I knew I needed to find a way to meet her, pick her brain, and ask her what food she really likes to talk about (not just food & history).

I slowly worked my way out of the auditorium to attend the Champagne Reception which was being held at the Audubon House and Tropical Gardens. I encountered two ladies, MaryCarlin and Jane, who would become my weekend-seminar pals. I immediately fell into a sisterly kind of chat about my story of food and my own little history and involvement with the Keys. I mentioned how Ruth Reichl was one of my favorite authors, and that my book project was in the style of her writing. After a short stroll through historical Key West, we arrived to the plush tropical setting of the Audubon House. I met more people, (MaryCarlin, a Key West snowbird), seemed to know everybody. I decided to mingle alone for a while, my plate of cheese and glass of cabernet sauvignon, my companions. I wandered towards a high top table and secured a premium spot with a group of young writers and poets. Holly, a food writer from Orlando (such a small world), and I discovered that we had the same desire to meet Ruth and the discussion eventually turned to Ruth’s keynote address.

“I had front row seats, it was pretty exciting to see her up close,” I started.

“I really thought she was going to talk about herself,” chirped Holly.

“She probably had a topic. I’m glad she’s on a few panel discussions. Maybe we’ll hear more then. Look there she is. Oh, someone snagged her. They must be talking about her hair, she keeps pulling at it. I’m going to invite her to the table,” I said.

“I really want to meet Jonathan Gold,” said someone at the table. I quickly scanned the crowd, not wanting to take my eyes from Ruth, like a groupie, or worse, a stalker, saying

“Hey, he’s right behind us. I’d like to talk to him, too. You know he and his brother are on two polar opposites regarding food.”

“I don’t think he’s the type you can just invite to the table,” she said, glancing toward him. “But I sure would like to have a few words with him.”

I looked back again and noticed that he bristled a bit at the attention we were giving him.

“I guess not,” she said, and we laughed.

I noticed Ruth was freed from the clutches of another adoring fan and I moved toward her with open arms before anyone else could get to her. “Ruth. Hi, come over here, we’re all your fans,” I exclaimed.

“Hi,” was her reply, she was smiling.

I was in heaven. She set her glass of white wine on the table and settled in, just like she knew us.

“You must get a little tired of people grabbing you for attention,” I said.

“Well, you know, it’s OK,” she replied.

“Were you talking about your hair?” I asked, (thinking why am I asking her this?) And then, “I noticed you were pulling at it.”

“I have a lot of it,” she smiled again. We all laughed and then the table was dishing hair; who has more, how when you have straight hair, you want curly, and vice-versa.

Ruth reached up for her hair, looked at me and said “I can only imagine what my hair looks like with this humidity.”

“It’s fine. I wish I had that problem,” I said, wistfully longing for anything other than my baby-fine, short blond hair that I can never manage, humidity or not.

“Ruth, I loved your speech about food history, I never thought of food that way,” I turned the conversation.

“I wanted to hear more about you,” said Holly.

“I had to prepare a speech,” she said.

“Ruth, what foods would you talk about if you didn’t have a topic?” I ventured.

She looked me square in the eye and said, “Clams. Sushi. Urchin.”

I started to melt, then I reached out and grabbed her, hugging her to me, gushing “Oh, I love this. I’m SeafoodLady! How about mullet roe? I had to write about it and convince the Orlando market that it’s worthy to eat. I love it.”

“Mullet roe? Oh, bottarga? I love it, too.” Said Ruth.

“It’s so good on scrambled eggs, pasta. Just shaved with a microplane…” I didn’t want this to stop.

“One of my favorite gifts was a package in the mail with bottarga, olive oil, pasta and a truffle shaver. It’s all you need for the best dish,” said Ruth, hands waving with excitement, she knocked over her wine glass, but she didn’t miss a beat. We all just stared for one precious second.

A bartender came to the table to see if we needed more wine. It would take a celebrity to get that service, as we weren’t afforded that privilege prior to Ruth being at the table.

“I had such a hard time finding a truffle shaver, they had one at Williams-Sonoma but they called it a chocolate shaver,” I went on, babbling. I knew I needed to introduce Ruth to Holly and said “Ruth, this is Holly, she’s a food writer in Orlando, too.”

Ruth turned to her left to shake Holly’s hand and say hello. Holly started to say something, then froze. She couldn’t speak, her excitement and emotion fused together and she just held on to Ruth’s hand, not speaking. Then Holly finally blurted, “Ruth, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t believe you’re here and I can’t say anything. I admire you so much, but I’m totally star-struck, like when I met Jon Stewart,” she wailed.

Ruth and I looked at each other and mouthed What! It was just enough to break the ice and loosen up the group. I thought it was the most endearing, touching moment I ever witnessed. Just then, a woman approach Ruth and attempted to pull her away from us. She was gushing over Ruth’s speech, her books and then she said quietly “Ruth, can I talk to you privately?” I protectively moved a few feet towards Ruth. Then Ruth asked her where she was sitting and that she would try to stop over, that she was busy with us. It was at that moment Ruth became my hero.

Then, like all good things, there has to be an ending. Ruth’s husband showed up and gently encouraged her away from our little party. And just like that, she was gone.

We rejoiced in the moments we had with Ruth Reichl and even loved the tipping over of the wine. It was suggested that we could use that as a “Ruth Cheer” in the future and all tip over our glasses. But it was a fleeting thought, because we discovered we would actually rue the loss of wine and so we chalked that one up for a silent toast instead. We talked of Ruth’s next seminar event and then her book signing. We said our good-byes with a promise to stay in touch.

I floated back to my hotel with fond memories, the thought of buying her books, getting her famous signature, a photo op and the chance to see her fantastic warm smile and her wild, untamable hair.

Cheers Ruth!