The great inflation cover-up

If the price of dinner is pinching us, why don't the CPI numbers acknowledge it?

My friend Dana, a former real estate investment banker who got out of investment banking comfortably before subprime mortgages hit the fan, has a personal inflation index. It's pegged entirely to the price of filet mignon at the Palm Too, his favorite steak house on the East Side of Manhattan. If the filet mignon is reasonable, all is right with the world. If it seems unduly expensive, Dana gets worried that inflation is spinning out of control. So a couple of months ago he returned from a month in Paris to find that the price of pricey steak had jumped to $38, up from $36. To hear him tell it, not since the Last Supper has an evening meal emanated so pervasive a sense of impending doom.

To be fair, Dana's professional background lends itself to price scrutiny of nearly everything, and being able to afford high-end steak at all puts you in that segment of the population that isn't relying on inflation-sensitive Social Security checks. But it's a little frightening when a guy who just spent several weeks spending euros (now 1.58 to the dollar and climbing) comes back to New York, switches to dollars, and finds himself "aghast" that everything's so expensive.

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