Lost sleep and dinner parties
It was 2 a.m. or thereabouts. I say that because without my bifocals, the numbers on the digital clock in the bedroom kind of run together.
It could have been 8 o’clock but I was sure that wasn’t possible, so we’ll settle for 2 a.m. — when I woke up from a bad dream, not quite a nightmare, but close.
Where do these things come from?
Somehow, in that REM sleep portion of my life, I was planning or trying to plan a dinner party for “three people, living or dead.”
The three people “living or dead” were, by my own choice, it seems, Michelangelo, Thomas Jefferson and Bill Bryson.
Why? I think that I had recently read about the party game where you are asked who you would invite to a fictional dinner and why.
I’m really not sure how this idea crept into my subconscious, but there it was in all it’s almost nightmare glory.
Just think of it. If such notables …
Everyone knows Michelangelo and Thomas Jefferson but for those who don’t know who Bill Bryson is, he is an author most widely known for “A Walk in The Woods.”
This exceptionally funny book was made into a very bad movie, sadly by Robert Redford. Alas, even my dreamy persons have feet of clay. That movie was just awful.
He’s written lots of other very good books, many that qualify as bona fide history. I like the way he writes.
So, back to my question.
Just think of what it would take to entertain these guys at a dinner?
First up? Where? At my house? I can’t really think that gathering these notables at, say Denny’s would do.
There is the cultural thing that would come up about décor, menus, the way people dress, etc. Explaining Denny’s would take up most of our dinner time.
A fancier place? Who is going to pay for dinner for let’s say four at Krebs. Not me.
So it would be at my house which would mean a lot of cleaning and fixing broken things and finding enough dishes and glasses that match without pictures of Spiderman on them.
I would also have to sort through my flatware to find enough of the same pattern. I don’t have any silver beyond the one serving spoon that I got as a wedding present.
I’d have to polish that … a lot.
I’m assuming these guys wouldn’t just appear in my dining room.
Of course in the dream, they very well could.
I have numerous books showing the spectacular gardens at Monticello and I know that Michelangelo lived in palaces among some of the finest Italian gardens.
Bill Bryson’s books often comment on the loveliness of the English countryside and rail against developments that would destroy them.
All of this would mean that I’d have to spruce up the outside which would in turn mean umpteen trips with the wheelbarrow to the composting site behind the village hall.
I can feel my back aching right now.
Then, what to serve?
Michelangelo, is Italian, but Renaissance Italian. I think they ate swans and such. I don’t cook swans.
Research tells me that Michelangelo ate sparingly and preferred to eat bread, olive oil, pears, cheese and wine. There is a famous shopping list attributed to Michelangelo that contains directions to his servant to purchase “ a herring, tortelli, two fennel soups, four anchovies and a small quarter of a rough wine.”
- That would be easy, but Thomas Jefferson was a gourmand, a lover of all kinds of foods who, if my history is correct, brought among other things, ice cream to this continent.
While living in France he developed an even more refined appetite.
I wondered if Michaelangleo’s preferences would be too boring for TJ?
Bill Bryson, though born in the U.S. has lived in the UK most of his adult life and if reading his books gives me a clue, he really won’t care what I serve as long as I serve some beer.
I couldn’t figure this out which is probably why I woke up at 2 ish a.m. with a sense of foreboding.
Thinking about this now, the clue to a successful dinner party for this group would be to place emphasis on the beverages.
Lots of beer and wine and a buffet service.
If I could be happy with a menu, then what would we talk about and in what language?
I don’t speak Italian. I’m pretty sure that Michelangelo didn’t speak English. I’m not sure about Thomas Jefferson’s Italian nor Bill Bryson’s, so we might need a translator.
Would that person be a dinner guest? Should it be someone of known stature to make the whole thing fit together? Should I invite Giada de Laurentiis? Mario Batali?
Talk about menu stress?
Maybe, since this is all fiction, I could get them to cook.
Even if I solved the language problem, I, wide awake and sitting at my computer, feel butterflies in my stomach about beginning and carrying on some kind of conversation that would have made the get together work.
Should I steer clear of politics, religion, baseball scores, poisonings and slavery?
Should I pull out my cell phone and try to explain it?
That would be something since I am not really sure about my cell phone myself.
Ultimately, the beer and wine part of the equation seems to be the most sensible decision after all.
