And Just Like Dinner

A dinner party for Bon Appétit and a new party game

In the season 2 finale of And Just Like That, Carrie hosts a dinner party for sixteen guests in her home, courtesy of a Michelin chef. I did not have a Michelin chef at the ready, but I did recently cook dinner for twenty or so friends two months ago for my birthday. I guested on Bon Appétit’s podcast Dinner SOS (hosted by Chris Morocco), where I recorded three separate calls. In the first, I discussed my problem of moving to a smaller New York apartment in the West Village after living in LA and wanting to host a dinner party. In the second, I met with Chris and chef Maya Kaimal (author of Indian Flavor Every Day) who devised a menu for me. Finally in the third, I explained how the night went.

Photo: Deonté Lee

Photo: Deonté Lee

I love collecting cookbooks but I never really tend to use them, which is why I love throwing dinner parties where I pick a random dish from a cookbook and try it. I have a few regular dishes in my arsenal for holidays — my Gran’s mac and cheese recipe — or a communal Fire Island house dinner — roasted tomato and oregano chicken, shrimp rolls, various pasta dishes — but the concept of trying something different appeals to me. Exploring a new culture and perhaps even stumbling through a recipe allows me to learn something about myself before I spend the night learning things about my friends. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a dinner too — recent faves include The Noortwyck in the West Village (Chuck Schumer stopped by our table and told us to try the rice pudding and it did deliver) and Casino in the Lower East Side (where I last found myself staring at Erika Christensen in a nearby booth before I realized I didn’t actually know her, I was just recognizing her from Swimfan).

When Carrie hosts her dinner party it’s to say goodbye to her home. Never mind only about three people in the room having any damn history with that apartment. And the one who really should be saying goodbye to it — Aiden — refuses to step foot inside. It made me think about the process in which we mourn things, let them go. Most of the furniture in my apartment was moved from Los Angeles, where I used to live with someone that is no longer in my life. Memories have been implanted into the seams of my couch, into the chips on the coffee table, reflected in the glass of my framed Pedro Almodóvar poster (an Italian print of Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!). There was a point when I thought that I would never get over that relationship, never stop thinking about it. Telling yourself not to think about something can often have a reverse effect, making it the only thing you think about. But making new memories, starting a new chapter of adulthood, and christening the apartment with relationships new and old (several friends were visiting from LA) managed to erase those memories. It’s in that moment, where Aiden is still afraid to visit Carrie’s apartment that I realized their relationship isn’t going to work. Never mind the five year time frame he’s given her to wait until his son is in an adult for him to date Carrie again. Putting a band-aid on wounds doesn’t solve them, ignoring them is even worse. Acknowledging them, going a little stir crazy, and letting the grief past is the easiest.

Photo: Deonté Lee

Photo: Deonté Lee

One of my favorite films from Elia Kazan is Splendor in the Grass, which depicts Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty as teenagers — Deanie and Ace — navigating heartbreak with a grief so intense it rivals Antigone challenging Creon for the right to bury her brother in Sophocles’ classic tragedy. After some time passes, Deanie gets over her heartbreak. When her friends asks if she still loves Ace, we hear her reciting in voiceover a William Wordsworth poem: “Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not; rather find strength in what remains behind.”

For me, it’s a dope apartment with a Bon Appétit feature. For Carrie, it should be her friends, the true romantic journey of Sex and the City. But And Just Like That is not interested in the journey of friendship, clearly, from how it’s utterly destroyed most of the bond between Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and yes, Samantha is a truly horrible cameo appearance. It seems to be interested in papering over grief with romance and companionship, so you have at least someone’s hand to clutch as you lie dead in your grave.

Photo: Deonté Lee

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Recently in Fire Island, I crafted a new game for Saturday evening dinner. Serendipitously, Luther Vandross’ “Never Too Much” was playing on Spotify as I explained the rules, and so the game Never Too Much was born on that Saturday night. The rules are simple: you write down the name of everyone in the room on a card. Then you shuffle the cards and hand them out. If you get your own name, you must pick a different card. And then you write down an anonymous question for the person whose card you have. The questions can be messy, shady, or sweet. It’s dealer’s choice! And then the cards are put into a bowl and each question is read aloud.

Let the games begin, as Taylor Swift said.