A DINNER PARTY--FRENCH STYLE

I don't really remember ever being at a real dinner party, at least one in someone's home, not a restaurant. I guess last evening was a first for me. I mean, who actually has the ability and the time to cook these days?

Well, Frenchwomen do--at least the ones who are living in New York because their husbands' employers sent them here. My wife, who is always looking for an opportunity to practice her French, got to know our hostess in one of the various French clubs my wife is in--I can't keep track of them all.

So that's how I ended up at a dinner party with a half a dozen French people, all but one of whom are in New York just temporarily. I can understand French somewhat well. I can put together a phrase, sometimes even a full, grammatically correct sentence, as long as I stick to the present tense. Past and future are very iffy, and the subjunctive--not to save my life. Basically I was counting on the wine being good to get me through the evening.

Now we're not talking about your formal dinner party here--there wasn't a tie in sight, much less a tail coat, tuxedo or evening gown. No butlers, footmen or maids, no servants of any type, though the building did have a doorman, a concierge and an elevator operator. The last wasn't really necessary to operate the automatic elevator, but we did need him to point out which apartment we were going to, because there are no letters on the doors--I guess that's how it is in some fancy, "exclusive" buildings. And it's certainly in a fancy location, overlooking St. Patrick's Cathedral.

I don't ever remember being in an apartment with a polished marble floor in the living/dining room--not to mention a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows with an excellent view of the Empire State Building. The floor was so noticeable because there wasn't a rug. In fact, the furnishings were very sparse--these are people who are here only temporarily (I noticed a whole shelf full of rolls of bubble wrap in the closet).

We started with an aperitif, as they do in France, while we waited for the remaining guests. I had a Pastis, an anise (licorice) liqueur, which is quite nice when diluted with water and chilled with ice. There were bowls of hors d'oeuvres--two kinds of olives, some delicious cherry tomatoes, cashews--and pistachios, still in the shell. We sat and talked--well, I mostly listened. The man we were talking with would switch to excellent English when he saw I didn't understand.

Eventually everyone arrived. Our hosts' son was also there--he's here in the U.S. for post-doctoral studies--though he left before dinner. Three middle-aged couples, plus a man and a woman. The man's wife, who my wife knew, was away visiting their daughter--in a warmer climate. So the hostess (I assume) found an unattached woman (perhaps she was a bit younger than the rest of us) to balance things out. I believe it's a requirement for dinner parties to have equal numbers of men and women. Well, at least for heterosexual dinner parties.

The women were casually, though nicely, dressed, two in pants, two in skirts. Both of the skirts were ankle-length, though one woman's had a slit up the side that revealed a lot of sheer black pantyhose-covered leg when she sat. All wore a little make-up, and had nicely done but not fussy hair. The men wore an assortment of sports jacket, sweaters, uncovered shirt.

The cocktail hour stretched a bit overtime. The conversations covered all kinds of things, but travel seemed to predominate. One of the men related how he periodically has to go to North Carolina to see a factory his employer owns. He was surprised by the number of churches in such a small town, and he was astonished when a company luncheon was preceded by someone saying grace. In France religion is a private thing. French people are amazed when politicians here mention God--that is never done over there.

Eventually we did sit down to eat at a narrow table tucked in the corner, after the hostess lit six little candles in glasses arrayed down the middle, three toward each end. The hostess was careful to arrange the seating so that it was man, woman, man, woman, but no one was seated next to or across from one's spouse (two more dinner party rules, I believe).

The meal started with a trio of vegetable mousses: zucchini, carrot, and beet, my favorite. They were served in little, narrow glasses, with sticks of toast for dipping. A nice red wine was poured by the host. The hostess brought out a huge platter of breads--five different kinds! I chose a roll with cranberries and nuts. The man closest to the hostess helped clear--no sexism here. The main course was a simple whitefish filet of some sort, mildly seasoned and steamed in foil. Very lightly buttered new potatoes and thin green beans with a bit of garlic were served on the side. No traditonal heavy French sauces. All very nice, though I would have preferred to add some salt. But I thought it would be impolite to ask for it.

The dinner conversation turned to movies and art exhibitions, which I mostly understood, and could add a bit here and there. Then, don't ask me how, the talk turned to malaria, dengue fever and worms! I stopped even trying to follow it at that point. I was rather glad I couldn't easily understand what was being said.

After we finished the main course (with a second platter of vegetables offered around), it was time for the quintessentially French cheese course. Four kinds, two goat, two cow, with another selection from the bread platter--I chose a plain bread this time. A second bottle of wine was opened at this point.

Dessert followed: a very nice, light strawberry purée served in martini glasses, accompanied by the best meringue concoction I've ever had--it had thin almond slices coating the inside of a meringue shell, and was filled with something soft and sweet. Somehow the meringue remained chewy, not hard. I had two of them.

In France they do not have their coffee with dessert--it's separate course (I have a friend who absolutely will not start her dessert until her coffee comes. I think she would have a big problem in France.) We adjourned back to the living room area. I was very glad to get off of the hard plastic chair--we had been sitting at the dinner table for about 2½ hours.

The coffee was French roast, of course, just a demi-tasse. That was to be expected. What I did not expect was that the coffee was instant. Individual packets of regular or decaf, which the hostess deposited in the little cups, which she then filled with hot water. It was amazingly good for instant.

The conversations went on, though I was sort of out of it. It was just too much of an effort to try to understand what was being said--the wine and food had taken their toll (not that I was over-stuffed--in France they have a way of serving a dinner that leaves one just full). I spent a good bit of time staring at the Empire State Building--when I wasn't nodding off.

Eventually it was time to go. My wife was amazed that it was after midnight. She had had a great time, and I had survived--the wine was good.