Photos and Text by: Corey Amaro
Do you see the look on my face? After my initial, country-girl awe, and mouth-drop gawking of the party decor and fashion, I noticed the food. Food has a way of getting under my skin and causing my true nature to jump forth. For me, first and foremost, a party is about the food…. (and of course the reason for the celebration.) As usual this annual party did not disappoint.
I smacked my lips (note the photo above), because I had spied the waiters carrying the trays of heavenly delights. I am a piglet in disguise, in a white ruffle dress, thank god for ruffles that hide all sorts of sins.
Please have pity of me… remember I was the woman who hadn't had a kitchen in over a month. The thought of food that wasn't microwaved, nor pizza, had me racing around the tables with the look of a hungry bear! I could barely take photos, as I wanted my hands to be free to delicately grab, and stuff the sweet morsels into my mouth.
Imagine how close I was when I took this photo. If my camera had been a mouth I would have instantly gained 100 pounds! Shrimp wrapped with noodles and deep fried. Have you seen this before? I hadn't, and since then my taste buds are crying, "More! More!"
Then I caught a look of these: Spicy, coriander, mint zucchini and shrimp. Wonderfully fresh, light, and I easily justified eating 100 of them… Where was the fat? That is how I justified eating the shrimp population at the party.
I became a close, personal friend to all the waiters. The catering company: Bec Fin doesn't know this, but I am their professional taster. I do my best to taste everything, twice. They scored four gold stars in my book.
On a long table, next to the silver leather sofas, was a Raspberry Mojito bar. French Husband and I looked at each other and yelled, "YOU'RE the Driver tonight!" Guess who won? Man oh man were those drinks delicious on that late spring, warm evening. Why did the full moon dance with me?
The new way to serve food in France is to serve it on tiny little plates (God I pity the dishwasher!) Every thing that was served that night, was served on little plates, or in small clear glasses called, verrines… "luxury in a glass,". I kept doing the math, (which wasn't easy after a few raspberry mojitos. A thousand guests, ten thousand, little entrees… How many dishes? At least those little dishes are easy to dry.
Throughout the evening Bec Fin continued to tempt me; Gnocchi with Truffles, Tapas galore, Grilled Tuna, Sushi, smoked salmon on mini blinis, small crepes with vanilla ice cream, macarons, chocolate cups with a paradise of flavor inside…
Midway through the feast of small verrines, a group of French Gospel Singers entertained us. French Husband's partner, Thierry, is one of the lead singers. He sang, and moved and grooved… well, let me just say this about that: If I didn't
know him, I would have sworn he was straight out of NYC Harlem. He's go the beat, and got it bad. If I were French Husband, I would be worried that Theirry might ditch him, and head out to California to be the next American Idol.
While I was listening to the Gospel singers, and stuffing my mouth with yet another wonder of earthly delight, I caught a glimpse of this silk, brightly colored, blouse, and when I saw the bow at the wrist… I dare myself to ask her if I could switch clothes, or at least ask her where she got it, or at least take a photo. Does anyone here sew? Do you want to make me a blouse like this? I need something to wear next year!
Then I saw these shoes, but before I could say, "Bonjour," she realized I was the crazy lady taking weird pictures and ran away.
The secret garden party was all that I imagined it to be, and I seriously hope they let me go again next year and the years to come. If not I will jump the wall.
Leave a Reply