On the imaginary bedpost of my journalistic career, a new notch has been carved: I made Jack Welch wait. Not five, not 10 but a full 15 minutes. And not in the privacy of the executive suites Welch has inhabited during more than two decades as the world’s most revered captain of industry. His patience is tested instead in the lions’ den of San Pietro – the trattoria just off Fifth Avenue that is the canteen of Manhattan’s old-school business elite.