Someday I shall be seen stepping from a bright yellow taxi, muffled in fur (and maybe a few diamonds), to a waiting doorman, and for one night at least I will pretend to be something special. Maybe I could be one of the lost Russian princesses, corseted, coiffed and awaiting certain doom. I don't know. But what better place to imagine than the Russian Tea Room? Just a few blocks from the Metropolitan Opera and just outside of Central Park, this is the place I am dreaming on these days.