I tend to overthink when it comes to life and love, and resolve (by thinking, unfortunately) to stop. But there are some occasions when this all slips away. My fantasy dinner party is located in one of the few spots where I know I can really be in the moment, at my most welcoming and engaging.
Maybe an exotic location is more questionable these days, but when I think about England in 2022 my heart sinks. I want something magical. So it is about 5pm, the sun has just dropped a notch in the sky, and I pause to look out across a deep blue sea. I can see people on the beach but the planting around this villa is such that it’s perfect for looking out rather than others looking in. This is St Tropez, the peninsula on Pampelonne beach to be precise.
The table is set. Soft linens, wood, local pottery and small glasses (no particular reason, just a preference). A smell of pine, a gentle breeze. DJ Laurent Garnier, a friend from my days DJing in Layo & Bushwacka!, who lives nearby, pops in to drop off a mixtape and a box of oysters from Arcachon. “Un cadeau, a bientôt!” His usual warm goodbye.
I nod to the chef, Remy the rat, from Ratatouille. He and his large kitchen team begin shucking. Many tiny hands make light work.
Not wanting to be idle, I open the Muscadet. Then I spot him. Walking slowly towards me up the beach comes Logan Mountstuart, the fictional writer whose journals make up William Boyd’s novel Any Human Heart.
He is in a reflective mood. “That’s all our life amounts to in the end: the aggregate of all the good luck and the bad luck you experience,” he tells me. I think he needs a drink. But at that moment a boat stops at the jetty and the most elegantly dressed woman steps off. “Please Logan, do not talk to me of love and heartbreak.” Anna Karenina is beguiling and passionate. “We must pursue the things we love, no? Or what is really left?”
Sourdough is delivered to the table with Vallée des Baux olive oil and coarse salt. There are locally grown vegetables chopped into crudités and served with bagna càuda, a nod to legendary St Tropez restaurant Club 55. We move on to drinking Bérêche et Fils Champagne.
The playlist hits. It’s “Johnny and Mary” by Todd Terje. “What a sad song,” says Mountstuart.
“But beautiful,” chimes in Karenina.
We hear a voice from behind us. “Yes, old sport, perhaps play something else. Lift the spirits.” Jay Gatsby extends his hand to kiss that of Karenina. He is immaculate in a beautiful white linen suit. I let the last tune drift and in perfect timing “La Belle Vie” comes on. I go to fill his glass.
I notice that another guest has managed to slip in unannounced. Irene Adler begins to sing quietly, stopping everyone in their tracks; clearly her desired effect. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to ‘borrow’ a boat to get here, and the owners weren’t too happy about it. I only just escaped with a little help from Mr Holmes.” Mountstuart is mesmerised.
Finally, looking a little dishevelled, in walks Philip Marlowe, Raymond Chandler’s hard-boiled detective. He pulls out a handkerchief, removes his hat to wipe his brow, waves away the whiskey and nods to the wine. “Life has a way of catching up with you,” he announces.
We sit down and the roast chicken from Landes arrives with a salad, but it’s almost lost in the din of conversation.
Then Remy brings the closing dish. “Auguste Escoffier made this for the actor Sarah Bernhardt. It’s a creamy strawberry dessert he named Fraises Sarah Bernhardt and I thought it the perfect ending to the meal here.” He bows humbly, and we all clap.
I am about to offer coffee but I see the spirits are flowing. Marlowe stares at the whiskey. “Is it a good one?” asks Gatsby.
“There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys that aren’t as good as others.”
“Both sides now” comes through the speakers, but the song just floats out to sea.
No one gets up to leave, but I notice Adler has slipped away into the night. “The French have a phrase for it: ‘To say goodbye is to die a little’,” says Marlowe, sad to see her go. “The bastards have a phrase for everything and they are always right.”
It’s night. The stars are out. There is contentment all around. The best end to an evening.
“If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content,” Karenina tells the table.
On this particular occasion, I think she’s wrong.
Layo Paskin is a former DJ turned restaurateur. He is co-founder of PASKIN
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