Reggie Throws a Dinner Party, Part I

Today's post, the first of two, discusses the planning and preparations for a dinner party that Boy and I hosted at Darlington House last weekend.  I thought it might be of interest—at least to one or two of my Dear Readers—for me to share just how we do it here at Darlington.

One afternoon a month or so ago I said to Boy that I was itching to have a dinner party to celebrate the arrival of autumn, and to entertain a group of friends—some of whom we knew well and others we'd like to know better—to an evening of pleasant conversation, flowing libations, and delicious, hearty fare of the season.

Boy and Basil at the Hudson Farmers Market in Hudson, N.Y., the week
before our party, to meet with our beloved caterer and also our flower lady

Throwing a successful party, in Reggie's view, requires planning, forethought, teamwork, and effort.  Although a party can be a casual affair, where guests freely mingle and help themselves to drink and food laid out at a buffet, one must never confuse "casual" with "effortless."  The term "effortless entertaining" is a particular pet peeve of Reggie's, and it sets his jaw on edge whenever he all too frequently comes across it in magazines breathlessly describing the entertaining styles of certain social animals.  Believe me, Dear Reader, "effortless entertaining" is a fantasy concept, indeed.  For a party worth attending doesn't just happen.  It requires work.  And why shouldn't it?  Anything worthwhile requires effort to achieve.  Fortunately Reggie enjoys all the preparations and planning that go into a creating a successful party.  He finds it fun.

One's enjoyment in undertaking such efforts is helped, though, when one is able to share said labors with others, at minimum with one's spouse, and—when possible—with one or more professionals employed to assist in making said event a well-run affair.

Christine Jones of the Red Barn
at her stand at the Hudson Farmers Market
Baker, caterer, restaurateur, and friend

When Boy and I entertain at Darlington House, we gauge the level of assistance we require by the number of guests invited and the type of entertainment provided.  When we have another couple over for cozy supper of four, we take care of it entirely by ourselves, setting the table, cooking and serving the meal, and washing up afterwards.  When there are six of us, though, we hire someone to help us out with the final food preparations in the kitchen, serve at table, and clean up afterwards.  When there are eight or more we surrender the cooking entirely to a chef, who is usually supported by an assistant and where the guests are attended to by at least one, and sometimes more, servers.

That way we get to enjoy our own party, rather than be enslaved by it.

The Cedar Farm stand at the Hudson Farmers Market
I ask you, who needs Manhattan's flower district when the good ladies
of Cedar Farm are so close to home?

Since we determined that there would be a total of ten of us at table for this dinner party, our first step was to contact our beloved caterers, Christine Jones and Bert Goldfinger of the Red Barn, who've helped us out with many parties, to see if they were available (and willing) to cook for us.  Once we determined that they were (Hooray!), we enlisted the help of a woman who helps us serving at parties, to see if she was available to attend to our guests, and were delighted that she was.

Marilyn Cederoth of Cedar Farm Wholesale
Plants-woman extraordinaire

Once we had the staffing of the evening in hand, we turned to assembling our guest list.  We invited a number of people who had entertained us who we liked and wished to return the favor to (see Reggie's Rules of Social Reciprocity), and we also invited some people we had never entertained before (two recent arrivals in the area, one of whom I first met twenty or more years ago), with the end result being a mix of singles and couples.

With guest list in hand, I picked up the telephone and started calling my hoped-for guests to invite them.  Please note, Dear Reader, I did not impersonally email or text my invitations, I telephoned them.  For when throwing a dinner party one should always strive to invite one's guests telephonically, in order to personalize said invitation.  Of course when throwing larger parties, say cocktails for fifty, it is understood that one sends out invitations via the post office (or, increasingly these days, by Paperless Post).

Olde Hudson on Warren Street in Hudson, N.Y.,
is a regular stop for us for specialty foods, and
where we stocked up on last-minute treats for our party

Once our guests had accepted, I then sent them reminder cards (in the mail) one week ahead of the party with the requested arrival time noted, as well as the dress.  For this dinner party we asked the men to wear jacket and tie.  It seemed a bit too early in the season to force ask our guests to haul out their formal wear for a country dinner party.

The marvelous Hudson Wine Merchants
on Warren Street in Hudson, N.Y.,
was the source of all of our party potables

On a parallel path with assembling our guest list we met with and had any number of telephone and email exchanges with our caterer to come up with a menu for the evening that was appropriately autumnal, and decidedly delicious.  As I've written elsewhere, Boy and I are of the school of entertainers who shy away from serving over-handled and fancified food at dinner parties.  We and our friends eat out in restaurants all the time, to the point that it really isn't all that special.  But it is special to be invited into someone's home for a dinner party these days, since so few people have them anymore (or at least invite us to them when they do!).  When I either give or go to a dinner party, what I really want to eat is what has come to be known as "comfort food."  And that's what we serve at Darlington House dinner parties—unfussified "home-style" cooking made with care and from the best available (ideally local) ingredients.  Not one's mother's plain, everyday get-it-on-the-table cooking, mind you, Dear Reader, but rather dressed up comfort food.

While we were planning the menu with our caterers we also contacted Marilyn Cederoth of Cedar Farm Wholesale.  Marilyn helps us with flowers at Darlington House.  We arranged for her to come by the house the day of the party to fill the Chinese urns in our drawing room with autumnal branches and to provide arrangements for the dining room table and the table in our entry.

Rural Residence on Warren Street in Hudson, N.Y., is an
invaluable source for candles for parties, among other things

The day before the party our groundsman/handyman/all-around godsend, Rich, brought in a crew and did a thorough leaf clean up and tidying of the property, so it would be in tip-top, manicured shape for the party.  We also contacted our favorite wine merchant in the area, Michael Albin of Hudson Wine Merchants, to put aside cases of white and red wine, and also one of champagne, and a replenishment of the bottled liquor we like to have on hand at parties.  Reggie also stopped by a specialty food court near his office in midtown Manhattan to pick up some before-and-after-dinner treats to augment the already planned food and drink.

Cases of champagne and wine, delivered and ready to be chilled for the party

With these and other advanced arrangements taken care of, we then drove up to Darlington from the city on Friday night, ready to embark on the preparations the next morning in order to be ready for our guests when they arrived on Saturday evening.

Next: It's Show Time!

All photographs by Reggie Darling

A Reggie Roadtrip: Atlanta, Part I

It's been some time, Dear Reader, since I've done a "Reggie Roadtrip" post, and—as a number of you have noted recently—it has been some time since I've posted anything.  Today's essay (the first of a two part series) remedies that deficiency with my reportage on a whirlwind trip that Boy and I took several weekends ago to Atlanta, a city that I hadn't visited in more than twenty years.  Our agenda there included meeting a number of the area's noteworthy bloggers, reconnecting with old friends, shopping, eating out, and visiting a smattering of sights in what is indisputably the South's biggest, boomingest city.

We began our journey in the Delta Sky Lounge at LaGuardia Airport where we fortified ourselves with several rounds of pre-flight cocktails and handfulls of Chex Mix.  Reggie is fortunate to have access to most of the airlines' members lounges when he travels.  It is one of the few remaining perquisites of being an Investment Banker, and a soothing antidote to the horrors of airport security lines—even for those of us with priority privileges.

"On second thought, Miss, please make that a double!"

Upon our arrival at Atlanta's mindboggle-ingly enormous Jackson-Hartsfield Airport I upgraded our rental car to a new Cadillac ATS, the brand's recent entry into the sporty, entry-level luxury car market dominated by Audi, Mercedes Benz, and BMW.  It had been some time since I'd driven a Cadillac, and I was curious to check it out.  Our ATS drove like a dream and had a lot of pep to it, but it was a bit cramped for those of us—such as Reggie—who stand at over six feet tall and carry a BMI that could use (ahem) some improvement.  Such minor complaint notwithstanding, I enjoyed test-driving the Cadillac ATS during our visit to Atlanta.

There's really nothing quite like a Cadillac, is there?

Our first destination in Atlanta was the city's Four Seasons Hotel, where we checked in and had a quick bite before heading out to see what the town had to offer.  As I have written many times before here on this blog, Reggie is a big fan of the Four Seasons chain, and he usually stays in one of their hotels whenever he has the good fortune to find himself in a city that has one.  I was interested to check out the Four Seasons' Atlanta outpost, as I had never stayed in it before.

The Atlanta Four Seasons Hotel in all its magnificence

The Atlanta Four Seasons is a monumental limestone tower, and its lobby is exhilaratingly, uh, garish.

Trump Tower red marble for miles and a
Phantom of the Opera crystal chandelier!

Not that it bothered Reggie one bit, mind you.  Reggie enjoys a bit of questionable taste every now and then.  The Atlanta Four Seasons' grand staircase reminded him of the one in Rhett and Scarlett's Atlanta mansion, the one that Rhett carries her up, kicking and screaming, and then ravishes her.

"This is one night you're not turning me out, Scarlett!"
Image courtesy of Selznick International Pictures/MGM

Just as Mrs. Butler apparently enjoyed herself that night, we had a lovely time at the Atlanta Four Seasons.  The service was superb, and the staff couldn't have been more accommodating, or nicer.

"I just love the beds at the Four Seasons.  They're so comfortable!"
Image courtesy of Selznick International Pictures/MGM

Our spacious and well-appointed room at the hotel was on a high floor, and had a terrific view out over Midtown Atlanta.

The view of Atlanta from our hotel room

Atlanta has come a long way since it was burned to the ground in 1864, Dear Reader, during what some in the South still refer to as the "War of Northern Aggression." Visiting Atlanta 150 years after the war's end it is (almost) unfathomable to me that our nation came to such blows then and that so many died for "the Cause."  It certainly seems very remote to this writer today.  But that was not the case as recently as my own parent's generation, many of whom knew people who remembered the Civil War, and some of whom experienced it first hand.  One of my mother MD's grandfathers, for instance, was a drummer boy in the Union Army.  I and my brother Frecky own swords that were carried by ancestors of ours who fought in the war, on both sides.

A view of downtown Atlanta in 1865, after Sherman had finished with it
Image courtesy of Cornell University Library

With but a few hours on our hands before our first commitment, Boy and I headed over to Sid Mashburn, an Atlanta-based men's clothing store that I first learned about from reading Maximinimus, one of my favorite blogs.  Dusty Grainger, who writes said blog, is a great appreciator of all things sartorial (among many other appealing attributes) and sang the praises of Sid Mashburn's emporium in one of his recent posts.  After reading Dusty's enthusiastic endorsement, I knew that Boy and I simply had to visit the store during our trip to Atlanta

The eponymously-named Sid Mashburn is, in this writer's humble opinion, worth a trip to Atlanta alone (and for you ladies, there's an equally-lovely store for the fairer sex right next door, named Ann Mashburn, after Sid's wife).

"Warning!  Danger Will Robinson!"
Image courtesy of Fox Television Studios

But be forewarned, Dear Reader!  Should you be so fortunate (or foolish) to darken (either) store's doors I assure you that you will be seduced by a powerful siren song, and will find yourself helplessly stumbling away with armloads of expensive, beautifully-made clothes and accessories and a decidedly emptier bank account.

At least that's what happened to Boy during our not-one-but-two visits to Sid Mashburn during our all-too-brief stay in Atlanta.  Reggie knew that we were in serious trouble when the very helpful and accommodating Brad, who assisted Boy during our visits at Sid Mashburn, greeted us with "What are you drinking?" and then obligingly (and repeatedly) supplied it to us to imbibe while we examined the store's delectable offerings.  As I watched Boy succumb to the heady charms of Sid Marshburn's inventory I couldn't help but recall the clothes shopping scene in one of my favorite movies, Sunset Boulevard:

"As long as the lady is paying for it, why not take the vicuna?"
Image courtesy of Paramount Pictures

But, unfortunately for dear Boy, I wasn't about to play the Norma Desmond character in Sunset Boulevard and pick up the tab for his shopping spree at Sid Mashburn—Boy was there on his own.

I must say, though, that our vist visits to Sid Mashburn were one of the highlights of our trip to Atlanta, and well-worth the financial damage done to Boy's bank account, as he came away with a splendid replenishment of his wardrobe.  There is a reason, Dear Reader, that the expressions "You only go around once" and "You must strike when the iron is hot" are clichés.  Because they are true!  Boy simply had to "bite the bullet" and "take the plunge" at Sid Mashburn—for when would we pass this way again?

On the other hand, I can just hear MD snorting if she were still alive and reading this, "Yes, and the same applies to 'A fool and his money,' too, young man!"  Ah, well . . .

Stuck in stalled traffic on Fourteenth Street

Realizing that we were in danger of running behind for our first commitment in Atlanta—a cocktail party that we were hosting at our hotel—we quickly wrapped up our visit at Sid Mashburn and jumped into the Cadillac ATS for (what we thought would be) a quick trip back to the Four Seasons.  But it didn't turn out that way, Dear Reader.  Traffic in Atlanta can be horrendous, particularly on the city's main thoroughfares.  What we assumed would be a five minute drive turned into a forty minute one, and we were late for our own party.  Fortunately everyone else was, too, given the congestion in the streets leading up to the hotel.

Reggie's Bloggers & Bankers Party, getting under way

So why did Reggie throw a party when he visited Atlanta, you might ask?  Because he could, that's why!  As I have explained elsewhere in this blog, Reggie is a party person, and he enjoys not only going to other people's parties, but throwing them, too.  As I was preparing for our trip to Atlanta, I realized that we knew enough people in the area that it would be fun to plan a party while we were there.  I invited a number of Atlanta's noteworthy lifestyle bloggers to it—some of whom I've met before and some of whom I hadn't—and also a handfull of my non-blogger friends.  Each were invited to bring "significant others" or a friend, and all-in we had around fifteen convivial souls assemble for the festivity.

Settling in for conversation, hooch, and tasty vittles

Because most of my non-blogging friends in Atlanta (coincidentally) work at Sun Trust (which is not all that surprising, since I got to know them when we overlapped at various financial firms in New York), I decided to call our cocktail party "Reggie's Bloggers & Bankers Party."  Needless to say, it was a super fun evening!  Liquor flowed, food was plentiful (and delicious), and talk (and laughter) was nonstop.

The Atlanta Four Seasons did a marvelous job at
making sure all of Reggie's guests were "well-served"
at his Bloggers & Bankers Party
Image courtesy of Super Stock

From the blogging world I was honored to have as my guests Jennifer Boles of The Peak of Chic, Julieta Cadenas of Lindaraxa, Barry Leach of The Blue Remembered Hills, and Terry Kearns of Architecture Tourist.  During the party I learned that Allin Tallmadge, the husband of a dear friend of mine from the banking world, has recently started a blog of his own focused on cheese (but I can't remember the name of it or I'd provide a link to it here).  Not surprisingly, Allin is passionate about his subject, and he owned the now much-missed Tallmadge Cheese Market in Montclair, New Jersey (the subject of a "Hot from the Kettle" YouTube video) before relocating to Atlanta with his wife several years ago.

By this point in the evening no one was feeling any pain . . .

Although the invitation for the cocktail party said it was from six to eight p.m., there was enough fuel, food, and fun being had by all (beautifully and deliciously supplied by the very solicitous staff at the Four Seasons' Park 75 Lounge) to keep Reggie's Bloggers & Bankers Party going well beyond eight pm, with the last guests not departing until after ten—despite our pleas for them to please, please stay for "just one more" before heading out into the night.

While I'm not exactly sure, I think Boy and I may have consoled ourselves with one last drink at the bar before heading upstairs, but I admit that by that point in the evening it all gets a wee bit blurry. . .

Next:  Rain, the Swan House, more rain, the High Museum, even more rain, a return visit to Sid Mashburn, pouring rain, and dinner at the Iberian Pig

All photographs, unless noted, by Reggie Darling 

The Odious Trend of Shoeless Parties

Dear Reader, there is something that I must get off my chest.  I absolutely loathe arriving at someone's house for a party and unexpectedly finding that I am asked to remove my shoes for the duration of my visit.  It is not a pleasant surprise, and the requirement to do so is a decided disincentive for me to ever wish to return.


Shoeless Windsors putting on a good face of it . . .

The few times I have attended a party where I've been asked to remove my shoes at the door have been rather unpleasant, and my primary memory of attending such party is the discomfort (and consequent annoyance) I felt walking around shoeless, rather than what should have been happy memories of enjoyment.  In my experience, hosts who make such a request of their guests do so because they are concerned that their guests' shoes will soil or damage their precious floors or carpets.  Such self-absorbed myopia is misguided, in my view.  As a host, I believe one's primary concern should be the comfort and well-being of one's guests, and not the impact their shoes might have on one's floors or carpets.

Because floors and carpets are meant to be walked on.  By people wearing shoes.

We have nicely finished floors at Darlington House which are, at least in some rooms, covered with expensive carpets.  It would never occur to me to ask our guests to remove their shoes and walk around in their stocking feet, or worse—barefoot!

Reggie once attended a party where the host and hostess announced upon his arrival, much to his dismay, that all attendees were expected to remove their shoes.  They explained that they wanted to preserve the Zen-like purity of their wonderful house.  I had the misfortune of arriving wearing loafers without socks (the party was held during the height of summer).  Not only was I put out to find myself required to walk around their house barefoot, but their (rugless) floors were less than Zen-like in their cleanliness (well, actually they were rather dirty), so the soles of my feet became filthy over the course of the evening.  While it was unpleasant to walk around their house barefoot (and just imagine what it was like to use their less-than-hygenic guest bathroom), having to insert my soiled feet into my shoes at the end of the evening made it yet an even worse experience.  I still shudder when I recall it.

Most people who attend parties (well, at least most people that Reggie knows) take care in planning what they wear, dressing for the event.  For many people—women in particular—shoes are an important component of their outfit, and many women (I suspect) like to wear heels at parties so they are up higher, on a more level playing field with the men.  To expect a festively-attired lady to remove her pretty party shoes in order to gain entry to said party is thoughtless and rude, and highly off-putting.  The same goes for men, too—I pride myself in the quality and the care of the shoes I wear, and I don't like to have to take them off when I am visiting someone's house.

"But Reggie," you may ask, "what about during bad weather, when the streets and sidewalks are wet and gritty?  I don't want people tracking it all over my house!"  Well, Dear Reader, then I suggest you concentrate your invitations on people who can be expected to wipe their feet carefully before entering (which means that you must supply them with the necessary means to do so), or who would be likely to bring a clean pair of shoes with them to change into.  Many of the ladies who attend cocktail or dinner parties at Darlington House during inclement weather arrive with a pair of party pumps to change into.  Even if one or two of your guests don't do a thorough job of wiping their feet and track in a bit of grime with them, there's nothing like a quick vacuuming after the party to address such matter.

And for those of my readers who may be concerned that a guest's stiletto heels will ruin your floors, Reggie wonders: what floors would be so soft that high heels would dent them?  Don't punish the rest of your guests by making everyone remove their shoes in the off chance that some thoughtless ninny will arrive wearing stilettos (or "Prossie Trotters" as my esteemed fellow blogger Tabitha of Bourbon and Pearls deliciously calls them).

Now, Reggie is well aware that some hosts provide their guests with slippers to wear under such circumstances.  While I acknowledge that doing so is an improvement to requiring one's guests to go shoeless, it isn't an ideal solution, in my view.  I don't know about you, but I don't care for wearing  previously worn slippers.  "What," you might ask, "does Reggie think about providing one's guests with disposable slip-on protective booties to wear?"  He thinks that by that point your mania for protecting your floors and carpets has reached such a level of lunacy that you should either contact a psychiatrist for an immediate consultation or to get your meds dosage upped!

Now, I do acknowledge that there are a number of circumstances where it is appropriate to ask someone to remove their shoes upon their arrival at your house, as follows:

1. When your floors have been recently refinished and have not yet thoroughly cured (but who throws a party under such circumstances?);
2. When said arrival is a workman wearing sturdy, lug-soled boots, and not a social guest;
3. When it is the cultural custom of the host and guest to remove their shoes, such as in Japan (but that does not apply to these shores, unless one has the good fortune of being entertained in a perfect, tatami-matted, Japanese tea house); and
4. When said guest arrives wearing Prossie Trotters that would damage the floors.  But, then, one should endeavor to make sure that such an undesirable is not a "guest" in one's house, unless the explicitly understood purpose of their visit is to have them remove everything they are wearing as quickly as possible.

All funning aside, Dear Reader, Reggie believes that one should never ask one's guests to remove their shoes as a requirement for gaining entry to one's house, particularly during parties.  One can certainly expect (and request, if needed) one's guests to wipe their feet (as all thoughtful guests should without prompting) but one ought never ask one's guests to take off their shoes and walk around one's house in their stocking feet, or—even worse—barefoot.  It's just not done.

And that is a Reggie Rule.

Tell me, Dear Reader, don't you agree?

Photograph of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor by Philippe Halsman, courtesy of LIFE Images

The Other Mrs. Astor Sale

Or, More Silver for the Entertaining Household

There was quite a hubbub in New York over the last several weeks among design, fashion, and society cognoscenti (as well as on the blogosphere) about the Sotheby's auction held in late September of the belongings of the thrice-married Roberta Brooke Russell Kuser Marshall Astor (1902-2007), the third and final wife of Mr. William Vincent Astor (1891-1959), also known as Brooke Astor.

Mrs. Astor's rather tarnished silver (plate),
just arrived at Darlington House

While the sale at Sotheby's on September 24th and 25th of the contents of Mrs. Astor's Park Avenue apartment and her Westchester country house, Holly Hill, elicited a storm of publicity, was heavily attended, and generated almost $19 million in proceeds (more than two times the high estimate), there was another, lesser-known sale of the dowager's effects on October 5th at Stair Galleries, an auction house in the Hudson River Valley.

I attended the preview of the Astor sale at Sotheby's in New York and was captivated by the elegance of the furniture, porcelains, objets de vertu, and art the society legend collected over her very long life.  Sotheby's did a beautiful job of arranging Mrs. Astor's many belongings in room-like settings, which brought to life and provided context for how lovely the spaces they filled must have been in their day.  I came away from the preview with the sense that I had just seen one of the last remnants of a fast-vanishing world of supreme comfort and elegance, exquisite formality, and measured order.  Mrs. Astor clearly lived a very lovely life.  At least until all that unpleasantness at the end, that is.

While there were any number of lots at the Sotheby's preview that caught my fancy, I didn't bother to leave a bid on anything as I suspected everything would go for dizzying prices, given the quality and provenance, and the hoards of souvenir hunters, too.  I was correct, as it turned out.  It all did.

However, I was not particularly bereft as I knew that I would have an opportunity to bid with greater likelihood of success (and at much more reasonable hammer prices) on some of Mrs. Astor's other effects in a week or two, at an upcoming sale of the society legend's lesser, mostly decorative things at Stair Galleries.  And again I was correct.

Stair Galleries is a regional auction house based in Hudson, New York, that does a very good and growing business in antiques, estates, and art.  In addition to a healthy business in direct consignments, Stair also partners from time to time with the larger New York auction houses in selling decorative-quality goods that come along with big-ticket estates but which are not the major houses' primary interest.  It is not unusual to find groups of objects at a Stair sale that are easily identifiable as coming from a known estate that was recently auctioned in New York.

The Stair sale of Mrs. Astor's effects held on October 5th was advertised simply and discreetly by the auction house as a sale of "Property of a Lady," with no mention made or acknowledgment of who the lady in question might be.  However, it was patently obvious from examining the 299 lots in the sale that the unidentified lady could only be Brooke Astor.

The Stair sale of the Property of a Lady was full of decorative goods, including soft furnishings, tables and chairs, lamps, china, silver, bibelots, linens, and clothing.  Unlike the heavily publicized Sotheby's Astor sale, most of the goods sold at the Stair sale went within their very reasonable estimates.  The lots that went above estimate—and there were several—mostly had some kind of clear association or identification with the Astors, such as a monogram or an inscription.

I was not able to attend the auction at Stair, held this past Friday evening, due to an inconveniently scheduled professional obligation at the Investment Bank where I work.  However, Boy and his assistant Nancie Peterson, along with two weekend house guests of ours, did.  All were successful in scooping up attractive bargains at the sale, and every one of them was delighted by their successes.

Boy came away with a large, silver-plated chafing dish, a silver-plated wine cooler, and four wine coasters.  We agreed in advance that he would bid on these items to add to our collection of silver we use when entertaining.  We wanted the chafing dish, even though we already own one, because we find that having more than one is useful when throwing a large buffet party.  We certainly could have used it at the brunch party for 35 guests we held at Darlington House the previous weekend.  Boy bid on the wine cooler because it is a near-match to one we already own that we use on the bar during large parties.  Footed wine coolers are particularly useful because they do not sweat condensation onto one's tablecloths, as do ice buckets.

The 1938 Astor wine cooler (shown on the right) is similar to the 
early-nineteenth-century one we bought years ago (on the left)

Another reason we decided to bid on the Astor wine cooler was because it is amusingly engraved "For Wince from Minnie and Carlo 1938."  "Wince," I am convinced, refers to Vince (as in Vincent) Astor.  The "Minnie" is (or was) Mary Benedict Cushing Astor Fosburgh (1906-1978), one of the famously well- (and frequently) marrying Cushing Sisters, including Betsey Maria Cushing Roosevelt Whitney (1908-1998) and Barbara "Babe" Cushing Mortimer Paley (1915-1978).  Minnie Cushing became the second Mrs. Vincent Astor in 1940, two years after she and "Carlo" gave the wine cooler to her future husband.  I have not been able to identify "Carlo," but Boy suspects that the reason that Vincent Astor is referred to as "Wince" on the cooler is that this Carlo may have had difficulty in pronouncing the "V" in the beneficiary's name.  It's all a play on pronunciation, Dear Reader.

The wine cooler's amusing inscription

I am quite pleased to have the additions of these Astor silver (plate) objects to our collection of silver for the entertaining household at Darlington House, and I look forward to using them at our next large party.  I am confident that they will benefit from a polish quite nicely.

Should anyone reading this essay know the identity of "Carlo," I would be most grateful if you would please share it with me so that I can fill in the missing piece of this engraved puzzle.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick and Reggie Darling

The Bottle Baskets of Darlington

Today's post, Dear Reader, is about bottle baskets.  Bottle baskets?  Yes, you read that correctly.

Ten or so years ago, Boy and I were out trolling the antiques shops in the surrounding area.  In a junk store, among the dross, Boy came across a dusty, old-fashioned rectangular wicker basket with an arched handle and internal dividers.  It was tagged for five dollars.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding it up for me to examine.

"I'm not so sure about that," I said.  "What would we use it for?"

"For what's it's made, silly, for carrying wine bottles, of course!" Boy responded as he handed it to the fellow who ran the shop.

I became a convert in short order, and since then we've acquired half a dozen or so bottle baskets.  And we use them frequently and for their intended purpose—to carry and store bottles.  They are attractive and sturdy little workhorses.  We keep one on the floor in our kitchen, next to Pompey's basket, filled with bottles of San Pellegrino.  We use others to bring bottles of wine up the stairs from our wine cellar for luncheons, dinners, and parties.  We've picked up all of these baskets at tag sales and group shoppes, usually for less than twenty dollars apiece.

Bottle baskets are particularly useful to have in an entertaining household.  During parties our caterer's staff find them most convenient and aesthetically pleasing for shuttling chilled bottles of white wine and Prosecco upstairs from our basement refrigerator to the bar set up in the center hall.  We have a large, two-handled one that holds twelve bottles, perfect for red wine at a porch or dinner party.  It is very decorative and looks more festive than bottles simply arrayed on a table.  You will notice that I'm showing it empty of wine bottles, though, because we . . . uh . . .  drank it all.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Wedding Band China

For many years I've collected Paris Porcelain.  I inherited some that was passed down from my great grandmother Giggy, but I've added a lot more over time.

Made in France in the 19th century, what is today known as Paris Porcelain was highly popular in this country in the decades leading up to and following the Civil War.  Millions of pieces of it were shipped to America, often in blanks awaiting decoration.  Much of it was painted after it arrived on the shores of the young nation, and was most frequently decorated with gold rims and circles within the interior, as shown in the photographs accompanying this essay.  Known commonly as "Wedding Band China," a name prompted both by its decoration and the frequent giving of it to newly married couples, this type of Paris Porcelain makes a regular appearance at our meals at Darlington House.

I recall seeing an article many years ago in Martha Stewart Living magazine about collecting Wedding Band China, but I've not been able to locate the issue.  We didn't start saving issues of the magazine until the spring of 1998, shortly before we bought Darlington.

Why do I collect this china, you might ask, Dear Reader?  Because I have fond memories of eating off of it as a child in the house I grew up in, and because it is (or once was) readily available on the East Coast at (generally) very reasonable prices.  Also, it sits right in the middle of our collecting period for such things.  Furthermore, having stacks of it on hand is most convenient when throwing large buffet parties.

Wedding Band China can be found at tag sales, at yard sales, in junk shops, in group shoppes, and on eBay.  As these things go, it is usually quite inexpensive, and can often be picked up for less than ten dollars a dinner plate, and sometimes for substantially less.  At such prices, who cares if a plate chips or cracks?  Buy extra for breakage!

Yesterday, when out and about in the town near Darlington where we do much of our shopping, we came across a table piled high with Wedding Band China sitting in front of an antiques dealer's shop.  Pawing through the assortment of offerings on his Saturday sidewalk sale table we came up with nearly two dozen plates in varying sizes that we were able to buy for only one hundred dollars, or less than five dollars a plate.  Try coming away with that kind of bargain at Crate and Barrel, Dear Reader!

With but a quick sudsy scrub our once dusty plates were gleamingly clean, and they are now safely stowed in the dining room cupboard at Darlingon House, awaiting their next act.  And, to that end, just today at luncheon (eating off of two of our new/old plates, I might add) Boy and I hatched a plan to host a large bruncheon party in the not-too-distant future, where our expanded pile of plates will be a most useful and pleasing addition.

Reggie urges you, Dear Reader, to keep an eagle-eye out for Wedding Band China and to amass stacks of it to use at large buffet parties, as we do at Darlington House.

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

The Salts of Darlington

The subject of today's essay is the vessels we use to hold salt.  As I wrote in last week's post, we do not shake our salt at Darlington House, but rather we pinch it and sprinkle it with our fingers.

A Regency-era cut-glass salt cellar

Although we have a collection of small silver spoons to scoop up salt from our cellars, we gave up using them years ago.  Too fussy and "genteel," in my view.  Besides, I like using my fingers to pick up the perfect amount of salt to season what I'm eating or cooking.

A jumble of unused silver salt spoons

At table in our dining room at Darlington we mostly use cut-glass salt cellars.  Some of them are from the Regency period, and some of them are later, in the Regency style.

We have them in various shapes and sizes.

We have other salt cellars, too, some of which are made of Sheffield silver . . .

. . . and some of which are made of mercury glass.

Boy found this tall mercury glass footed salt that we sometimes remember to use.

At our kitchen table we use heavy glass cellars for "every day."

We also use an antique horn pepper and salt cellar, from time to time.

I found this little milk glass chicken-in-a-basket salt cellar in one of the cabinets at Darlington House after we bought it.  It was left behind by the previous owners, the Procters.  I like to use it at breakfast.

For cooking we have glazed earthenware containers to hold different types of salt.

We fill our cellars with a variety of salts, including fleur de sel, kosher salt, and assorted flavored salts.

Tell me, Dear Reader, do you pinch or do you shake?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick