Sometimes you invite 12 guests, expecting 10 to end up dining around your table. And sometimes, you invite 600 fancy-pants-ers, expecting 300 to actually show up at the gorgeous, but intimate, National Arts Club on Grammercy Park, and you get all 600!
I fed 600 mouths Tuesday night at The Supper Club New York Launch Party, and it was a fucking riot. My first really, really big bash for The Dinner Belle, my first time behind the scenes at a Supper Club event (trading in red carpets for bloody, beef carpaccio bundles), and my first time being disparaged with, “You can’t be the chef?!” It was not however, the first time I’ve heard this doozy, (referencing the carpaccio) “Is that beef raw? Ew!” or (dismissing the Serrano-wrapped, roasted fig with melted manchego) “Oh, I can’t. I’m on a diet.”
Come on now, it’s The Supper Club, people! Tamsin had certain flavors in mind when she invited 600 of New York’s tastemakers to wine and dine their way into her ultra-exclusive membership; “well done,” and “no carbs,” weren’t the menu she, or I, had in mind. Besides, half the joy of serving raw-meat hors d’oeuvres is watching girls in sequins get their champagne stems bloody. This was an especially fun thought Tuesday night since I wasn’t dressed to the nines, courting the fancy of New York’s designers, socialites and media mavens; I was (happily) in the kitchen, dressed in a white chef’s coat, with my own version of The Orange Clogs, my bronze, metallic penny-loafers.
I had my champagne later in the evening when Erin and I were escorted, by a couple of handsome party stragglers we found wandering around the kitchen looking for “the guy to compliment on the awesome chocolate truffles,” downtown to Mas (farmhouse). And that was some well-deserved bubbly!
Truth be told, the event was pretty fantastic. The passed nibbles and the rustic spread (all that artisinal bread, cheese, nuts and fruit) were exquisite, Kimberly. The martinis with champagne chasers weren’t bad either. With you and Erin working away in the kitchen, I was forced to work the room on my own, shaking hands and swapping pleasantries with all the Supper Club hopefuls who had gathered at The National Arts Club. The space was so “Old New York” and the crowd was so “Now New York;” I wonder what Edith Wharton would have thought of Heatherette’s Richie Rich?
I’ll say this: if you are attending an event with 500 super-fab folks on Grammercy Park, don’t go for “understated.” There were so many beautiful people who faded right into the 1890’s mahogany background because their chic, chic dresses and suits were black! Tamsin wore white, which was genius because the cameras could always find her, even among her hundreds of guests. I decided on updo, cleavage, cocktail hat AND red lips and got some positive notice for it! In fact, I got a short-list mention in the NY Observer’s coverage of the event, and CONGRATULATIONS, Darling, on The Dinner Belle’s recent mention on Notes on a Party! You and Erin are so in-demand I’m afraid I’m never gonna get another bowl of homemade pasta on Christopher St. again?