Friday morning.
The rain is falling in sheets outside my window; car tires make hissing sounds against the pavement as they drive past. I’ve got Moby on the stereo (“If Things Were Perfect” is sooo delicious on a rainy day) and candles flickering on my desk, but there’s no way to escape the to-do list scrawled on a sheet of scrap paper to my left. I’ve been typing away for several hours already this morning (wine label copy, if you must know) and there’s more to do, but I feel grateful that I’m not sitting in traffic.
Indulge me, if you will, in a daydream break.
The Neiman Marcus Christmas Book arrived in the mail yesterday – thick and shiny, with a glossy green cover sporting a gold-embossed butterfly. They’re trying to tempt me to change my zero balance, the sneaky bastards, and for a few moments, I did toy with the notion of dusting off my card and calling the 800-number.
What did I need more: the studded leather trench coat from Burberry (page 21) or the fluffy fur poncho (page 118)? The knee-high Ferragamo boots (page 14) or the sparkly Pucci dress (page 12)? Then common sense prevailed as I remembered that I don’t wear fur, and $11,000 for a trench coat might be a dollar or two more than my budget will allow. But seriously, how many CRAB cookbooks would I need to sell before I could afford those boots?
Then I happened upon page 126, where a picture of an idyllic mountain landscape is superimposed with a tousle-haired man staring broodingly into the camera. “A Slice of Heaven,” the caption read. What are they selling here, I wondered – a picnic in a grassy meadow with McDreamy?
I was close, but not very. Item 126 is a “wilderness package” that includes a trip to the Ameya Preserve in the Yellowstone ecosystem of Montana, complete with a private gourmet dinner cooked by none other than Alice Waters. Directly from the ad: “Your dinner guests: a collection of artists, authors, and scientists. Your dining music: Joshua Bell, Reneé Fleming, or maestro Peter Oundjian.”
The price? A cool $2.3 million.
“There’s a sunset waiting for you,” the page crooned.
Try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve always felt like intimate dinner parties – no more than eight seats around a table – provide the best opportunity for scintillating conversation and meaningful interaction among people. Small dinner parties, far more than splashy events or a room full of hipsters holding cocktail glasses, are my idea of a good time.
Someone recently asked me what famous people I would want to meet, if anything was possible – and I said: if anything was possible, I would want to have dinner with them. Just meeting them wouldn't be nearly enough.
For 2.3 million dollars, I hope that I would get to pick the “artists, authors and scientists” who sat around the table. I would spend hours agonizing over the list, trying to determine which mix of personalities and backgrounds would create the most exhilarating mix of conversation. They couldn’t all be divas; none of them could be overpowering personalities. None could be painfully shy. None could be so famous that he or she would eclipse the others.
Would Mary Oliver feel comfortable around the table, or might Zadie Smith be a better choice? Who would be more interesting: Kara Walker or Hiroshi Sugimoto? Would Joan Didion consider an invitation? Would Jodie Foster be an engaging guest? Would Daniel Libeskind agree to fly to Montana? Would Al Gore be too overbearing, now that he’s a Nobel Peace Prize winner? Would Steve Jobs wear his signature black turtleneck with jeans?
Seriously, this is tough stuff. Maybe it would be wise to leave the guest list to the Neiman Marcus folks. Then I could focus on other details, like: would Alice Waters insist on creating the menu, or would she let me help devise the mix of plates? Might I assist in selecting the wine? Would it be okay if I wanted Josh Groban instead of Reneé Fleming? Could we string chandeliers from the trees to provide a twinkly glow to offset the dark bulk of the mountains? Would the knee-high Ferragamo boots be an appropriate footwear choice?
Clearly, one of the guests would have to be friend, otherwise I wouldn’t have anyone to discuss it with, ad nauseum, in the days and weeks afterwards.
Who would you want around the table at your Slice of Heaven dinner party?
Discuss. I’ve got to get back to my to-do list.
