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But Salomon put $116 million into the joint venture anyway, thinking that oil was going to be integral to Russia’s future and that Western capital was needed to extract the oil. But, while “the country isn’t going to go away,” as Buffett said, and “the oil isn’t going to go away,” the Russian political system could go away. No margin of safety could cover that.40

Sure enough, as soon as the White Nights joint venture got going, the Russian government began toying with a tax on oil exports. The tax nearly wiped out White Nights’s profit. Then the volume of oil production proved disappointing. Russian nabobs flew to the United States and expected to be entertained with prostitutes. The Russian government was unpredictable and uncooperative, resulting in setbacks from start to finish. Somebody was going to make a lot of money from oil in Russia, but it wasn’t going to be Salomon Inc.

Russia, however, was merely a sideshow at the time. In 1989, the United States had become obsessed with the possibility that the whole country would be eclipsed by the rising sun of Japan. Salomon had invested large sums in Japan and was doing well in its start-up business there, which had grown rapidly to hundreds of employees and was making money under its head, Deryck Maughan, who had wisely given local talent the reins. Buffett, who generally did not buy foreign stocks and who believed Japanese stocks in particular to be outrageously expensive, had shown little interest in anything related to Japan. Katharine Graham, however, had developed a fascination with Akio Morita, one of the world’s most brilliant businessmen. Morita was chairman of Sony, one of the world’s most successful corporations. Graham brought the two men together at one of her dinners, but they did not click.

Finally, during one of Buffett’s trips to New York, Morita-san held a small dinner for Graham, Buffett, and Meg Greenfield at his Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking the Metropolitan Museum. Buffett, who seemed slightly mystified by Graham’s interest in this powerful, visionary man—observing grudgingly that Graham “was sort of enchanted by Morita”—agreed to go.

Buffett had never eaten Japanese food but knew it might be problematic. He went to plenty of events where he touched nothing more than the dinner rolls. He could easily go seven or eight hours at a time without eating. He disliked offending his hosts, however, and as his reputation had grown, he found that there was no way to fake eating by cutting things up and moving them around. People noticed.

One side of the Moritas’ apartment had a sweeping view of Central Park, the other a sweeping view of the sushi kitchen. A highlight for guests was the opportunity to watch the four chefs preparing the elaborate meal behind a glass window.

As they were seated for dinner, Buffett looked at the chefs. What was this going to be like? he wondered. As guest of honor, he was seated facing the kitchen. There were chopsticks on a little stand and tiny cruets and miniature bowls of soy sauce. He already knew he didn’t like soy sauce. The first course was brought out. Everyone slurped it down. Buffett mumbled an excuse. He motioned for his full plate to be taken away. The next course arrived. Buffett could not identify it but looked at it with dread. He saw that Meg Greenfield, who had eating habits similar to his, also was having difficulties. Mrs. Morita, seated next to him, smiled politely and barely spoke. Buffett gurgled another excuse. He nodded again for the waiter to remove his plate. As his untouched dishes returned to the kitchen, he was sure the chefs noticed.

The waiter brought out another unidentifiable course of something that looked rubbery and raw to him. Kay and the Moritas tucked in with enthusiasm. Mrs. Morita smiled politely once again when he offered a third excuse. Buffett squirmed. He liked his steaks bloody but did not eat raw fish. The waiter cleared the plates. The chefs kept their heads down. Buffett was sweating. He was running out of excuses. The chefs