![]() ![]() To me it has always been clear that a dinner party is about what is said, not what is eaten. There are also details of the dinner parties that celebrities dream of hosting and tips for sparking great conversations from Rico Gagliano and Brendan Francis Newnam, hosts of the podcast “The Dinner Party Download.” In the following articles, our five food columnists provide menus and inspiration to help you host your own dinner parties this season. The brandy snifters had to have landed, I was certain, around the second punch line of my dad’s best joke, as he dryly delivered the one about the hockey players and hookers. I cleared and cleaned and then polished that table, and I cataloged - loosely, just in my brain - all the tangible things people held and worried in their hands during the lengthy meanderings and the reaching pauses of those adult-dinner-party conversations. The torn, still-fragrant tangerine peels must have been stacked into neat piles when the conversation turned to the subject of parenting an ungovernable teenager the cigarette butt crushed into in a walnut husk obviously, in my mind, stubbed out during the heated topic of money. Examining the remains, I imagined that the Champagne cages someone twisted into the shape of beautiful rudimentary butterflies were formed during a spontaneous recitation of a few lines of poetry. I used to “read” the dinner-table detritus left behind - the felt-tip pen, the ivory silk kerchief, the little pile of strawberry hulls - as if they were fossil impressions not of sea horses or prehistoric invertebrates but of the conversations that were had there just hours earlier, records of a grown-up discussion I was dying to be allowed to join. ![]() To walk the table’s perimeter, weaving around the pushed-back chairs, and to collect the foils and corks, the stained wineglasses and the scattered cloth napkins, to get the pancake spatula and pry up the candle wax that had overflowed, felt not unlike sneaking into their bedroom and finding the sheets curiously twisted, the pillows dented and, as long as I was there, furtively helping myself to the loose change left on the bureau. Prop stylist: Gozde Eker.įor me, it was always a bit of an adult thrill to come downstairs on a Sunday morning, the household still sleeping, and find the table - the long formal one in the dining room - strewn with the last debris of the late-finishing dinner party given by my parents the night before. ![]()
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