I said that it would be an honor for me to eat his cigarette ash

From Trying to Please by John Julius Norwich.  Page 98.  

My only meeting with de Gaulle occurred in very different circumstances, on the second anniversary of D-Day in June, 1946. I had recently learnt to drive and the occasion marked my first long journey alone—to Arromanches on the coast of Normandy, where a service had been held on the beaches in the morning, attended by de Gaulle, my parents, and assorted French dignitaries. After the ceremony, a buffet lunch had been laid on in a local hotel. I drove up that morning from Paris, got lost, missed the ceremony, and arrived at the lunch at around two o’clock—to find that it was virtually over; people were sitting around on sofas and armchairs with plates and glasses lying around, almost all of them empty. On one of the sofas was General de Gaulle, to whom for the first time my father introduced me. I still remember my astonishment as he rose to his feet—all six foot six of him—to shake my hand. It had never occurred to me that so distinguished a figure would get up to greet a sixteen-year-old boy; but he did, and I have never forgotten it.

During our extremely brief conversation I had noticed at his side an almost untouched plate of delicious looking apple pie. Having had no lunch and feeling ravenous, I pointed it out to my mother and whispered: “Is that the General’s? And if so do you think he’s going to eat it?” “You’d better ask him,” she replied; and so, greatly daring, I did. The General politely confirmed that it was indeed his, that he had no intention of eating it and was delighted that I should; unfortunately, he added, he had spilt rather a lot of cigarette ash on it. I said that it would be an honor for me to eat his cigarette ash—an appalling piece of over-the-top flattery which even now I blush to recall; but it seemed to go down rather well. The apple pie certainly did.