Now that the concept of Apéritif Dînatoire is firmly understood by everyone you can throw it all out the fenêtre, forget about it; at least that’s what our dear host and hostess have done from the very get-go (comme on dit) by ensuring that waiters and waitresses (I am not talking the Double T Dinner kind, hon) but the serving staff all of whom were appropriately garbed, highly efficient and extremely polite. Other than that they were OK if you were royalty I suppose; but for me, ever so easily impressed, I thought it was wonderful. The sights and sounds of staff busy keeping guests happy, the sounds of a quartet in the corner of the Grand Salon, all blended together quite nicely in their spacious apartment. Did I think it was a tad bit too lavish for my truck stop and Tasty-Freeze (le Macdo) taste? I’m a guest, a friend and a cook. Let’s just say I’m glad I dressed to the nines so that I was very comme-il-faut.
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You may think that was an unfair shot-across-the bow but in all honesty, I admire those who know how to entertain in high elegance yet make it look ever so casual “why it’s just a gathering of a few of our dear friends.” I suspect many of you will know that behind that facade of casual ho-hum-ness, blasé-ness, someone has been polishing the silver, waxing every piece of furniture, fitting candles here, there and everywhere; giving last minute directions to the bartender, double checking which vintages are to be served, and decanted when, how much champagne and not too chilled, sufficient scotch and liqueurs should be on hand; little bowls of peanuts and olives here and there; adjusting the lights, turning them then off then on again just to make sure; and generally, making sure everything is, well just right. And if you haven’t the staff for all of this attention to detail then most likely it’s you and your second in command who have the responsibility for carrying the evening off just right. They use poor children sometimes to the menial work of polishing silver. I know.
Let me pause and regroup for just a second. In many ways, I believe my parents gave some of the most elegant and successful cocktail parties I have ever witnessed -both growing up and later as an adult or trying to be one. So I tip my hat to them wherever they may be, undoubtedly looking down and shaking their heads acknowledging that he always was a bit different. I remember quite well, the last few moments before the doorbell rang, it was as if a movie director had just shouted “everyone take their places and….action!” At that moment, the first guest were ushered in and greeted warmly, yours truly at one time was a coat runner up several flights of stairs or running with drink orders to the bar. I do recall that the ladies were always decked out and looked like a million dollars – if I may permitted to say so. May I refill your glass? Oh darling, do fix me another Scotch!
The underlying theme of these affairs is and always has been “Elegance” with a capital “E” and the mise-en-scene had been perfected over time. In our house, the two entrances into the grand living room were both open wide, candles were aglow here and there, the music was playing just loud enough – a Brazilian jazz number, a cha-cha – (my responsibility for playing appropriate cocktail music for a crowd that never really appreciated the Rolling Stones or Jethro Tull.) Attention to little details were in evidence; silver polished perfectly and you could straighten your tie by looking into the coffee service (I should know), a cigarette case “casually” opened on the desk, perhaps an initialed silver cup holding more cigarettes, there were several malachite ashtrays which guests always took for, well an ashtray. My father could never understand why they would even think of using it in that fashion. Work the logic on that one.
The “Cocktail Party” 1956 (pictured above) by John Koch is evocative to an era of glamour and to a certain extent, civility. Those were elegant affairs. I believe it’s an art that’s slowly disappearing along with dinner jackets at, well dinner. Some would say the era of elegant entertaining may have already left the station but I choose not to believe those cynics who are straining their ears, longing to hear that final death rattle. Perhaps as we increasingly tilt towards le relax, casual Friday’s, fast food, too much work/not enough time, buy it frozen ready-made, it’s taking up my free time, there’s a movie on the TV, pick up the kids for something and on and on, we may well come to the conclusion that we all had a hand in its demise. On this one, I think, we all have blood on our hands. My hope is that I am so very wrong. But hanging around the corner malt shoppe or the local bistro it’s still a bit early to tell. I hearken back to those days even when we were living in the tropics, our house had a veranda which ran the length of the house, flowers everywhere, white coated “staff” (how very comme il faut of me) at every turn, live music, barrels of scotch, champagne and wine all mixed together under a cloud of blue cigarette smoke, heady perfume, and a sense of devil-may-care what tomorrow brings, just make sure you have your passport ready and near a telex. Everyone knew hell was eventually going to break loose. Party on!