It was the early 1990's. I had been in Czechoslovakia for two straight weeks contracting with newly-privatized farms. There was no food to eat aside from root crops. I had lost about 12 pounds.
My home flight originated from Vienna, to London, and then on to New York. The airline meal was a huge disappointment, even after my two-week diet. I swore to eat a burger in NY n matter what it costs.
JFK was a nightmare as weather had cancelled many flights. The only seat I could find in any sort of restaurant near my departure gate was at a bar. There was one seat available beside some guy laying face down, passed out, and with a head full of hair spread across the bar. Desperate, I sat down. After placing my order and shoving some of the hair out of the way, the guy raised up. It was ROD STEWART! His face had imprints from loose change laying on the bar. He said "What day is it, Friend?" I told him it was Friday. "Really?" Stewart replied. And then he fell back into his original position. The bartender that brought my $24 hamburger (1990's!) said he had been sleeping there for about 18 hours.