I usually have very strict rules about dinner parties. My table seats a maximum of 14 people and beyond that I refuse to even call it a dinner party. I’ll have cocktails in a relaxed setting with bites, nibbles and food stations spread out across my home. Everything can be eaten by hand or from small plates with only a fork. I don’t believe in having dinner parties where you must have more than one table. Interaction, which is a more integral part of a dinner party than food, becomes very limited and what can seem like the shortest or longest two hours of your life will depend on your seatmate and the fate your host assigned to you. And yet for this task, I absolutely must invite 27 people. And the only forgivably enjoyable set-up for this odd number would be one bucolic long table in the countryside for a very chic barbecue, with and interminable downpour of extremely chilled rosé.
I also have another very interesting disclaimer: since it is a fantasy dinner party, I will stick to only the fantastical. Simply because should I begin to invite anyone I truly know, I will most probably get a flurry of calls and e-mails as to why I invited so and so and not them. For those of you who have thrown any sort of dinner party beyond eight people in this country, the old adage “the more the merrier†is more the rule than the exception. Your casual intimate get-together often becomes a rocking party of 40. I’m not complaining! But to all my friends out there (my husband included! Come for dessert, honey!): you are not on this guest list.
The Setting:
It is a beautiful summer, somewhere in the Mediterranean countryside. One can no longer tell when day ends and evening begins as the sunlight stretches its arms, refusing to go to bed… A long table is set casually. Mismatched crockery, vintage crystal glasses fetched from the nearby flea market, a few Laguiole knives strewn about so that guests may serve their own cheese and charcuterie. Wooden boards serving up gorgeous platters of local produce. A soft cheese languidly melting under the warm sun… The air is dry and cool, carrying in the wind the scent of coal and juices from a makeshift roasting pit in the near distance. The sound of crickets, mingling with the dry rustling of the bushes; the clink of glasses and animated chatter.
Les Invités:
Dinner parties as large as this need to have the perfect mix of sympathique and antipathique: those who get along with everyone and a few “love ‘em-or-hate ‘em†wild cards. Beyond the intimate magic 12, parties with people beyond that number need to have some commotion and fun. Everyone needs to have some sort of a role to keep things exciting and fresh. Take all the same type of people and, well, you could float from guest to guest and have the same type of conversation. It would feel more like a convention than a party.
When entertaining outdoors, the casual setting calls for people who can help out by the pit. Guillaume Tirel (1310-1395), more commonly known as Taillevent, was a medieval cook in the Valois King’s court who wrote the famous cookbook Le Viandier. The Medieval times were used to fantastic roasts and I can’t think of anyone better than him to oversee our meal. Joel Robuchon for his gorgeous baby lamb chops and to help ease M. Tirel out of the past would be there, because no one wants to eat a roast peacock nowadays. And if anyone can whip up a gorgeous mashed potatoes in the middle of nowhere over some coals, he could do it.
You also need people who would keep the drinks pouring as well as the fun stories! Georges Scheuer was manager at The Ritz bar for over 40 years and personally knew the likes of Hemingway, Maharajahs of Cooch Behar and Jaipur, King Alfonso of Spain, The Fitzgeralds… He would be accompanied by Frank Meier, The Ritz’s original head bartender, often credited for many of our classic cocktails. A true bartender is part entertainer, part psychologist, offering interesting anecdotes, a friendly ear or a snippet of advice when needed. Who wouldn’t want to hear about the drunken secrets of famous people?
As with any outdoor setting, we’d definitely need some music. Musicians are not only entertaining but are often characters of their own always looking for the next adventure. Top of my list are the Beatles. Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Ringo Star and George Harrison. (Yoko is not invited.) I can only imagine them jamming with jazz manoush legend Django Reinhardt and sexy Steven Tyler. I would throw in Billie Holiday for her gorgeous silken voice, Carla Bruni for her soft hippie tone (and stories about her modeling days and what it’s like to be married to Sarkozy) plus Brigitte Bardot (young, please!) for her crazy yeye music of the ‘60s and silly declarations like “Animals are humans too.â€
To temper things a bit and not transform the event into a full-blown Woodstock, we would need to have a little more substance. I would love to have Napoleon Bonaparte sitting right next to Henry Kissinger, Mao Tse Tung and Thomas Jefferson. Why Jefferson and not Washington? Because Jefferson enjoyed his wine! Oh, let’s throw in Henri IV of France, responsible for the “Edit de Nantes†that paved the way for religious tolerance. I would love to hear them discuss their political and economic strategies to cure what ails today’s contemporary world. We must make sure to have a couple of Mai Tais at hand to soften Kissinger’s edge. All adept diplomats with theoretically no more countries to rule and lots of wine could make for a fun alliance. Oh, and let’s have Ernest Hemingway in there to grumble about everything.
We would also need some adventurers like Ibn Battuta (1304-1368), although he would disapprove of the wine; he traveled over 75,000 miles in his lifetime from Beijing to the Maldives, earning himself the title as the Muslim Marco Polo. There would also be Jacques Cousteau for his tales under the sea and Neil Armstrong to regale us with his views of outer space.
Every party needs some pretty faces, so we could definitely throw in the sultry Ava Gardner and debonair Cary Grant. We could also have Mario Testino to document everything!
However my ultimate party guest would be the wild card Salvador Dali. His notorious eccentricity would bring life to any party! Here’s hoping he makes some very impromptu surrealist portraits out of leftover basting jus and charcoal or finds us some cheetahs to play with!
Wait that’s only 26? Oh yes, of course… my mother. For, even in the fantasy world, she would still call me to complain if she wasn’t invited. In any case, she would happily bring her own champagne and is possibly one of the few people I know who could strike up a conversation with anyone!