A Dinner Quartet for the Ages

Which historical luminarios would you invite to dinner?

There are perennial games we play when making chit chat around the table. One is where we have a choice of magic powers including flying, being invisible, or making things disappear. To which I say, why choose? I want all three! There’s also more Debbie Downer options like which of the five senses we’d give up or do without if we had to. If someone popped that question, I would give them the eye. And I might think about asking them to leave the table. I mean really.

My favorite variation of the “what if” games, as I call them, have to do with meeting famous people from history in some context. The most common one is pondering which historical luminarios you’d invite to dinner. There’s famous conquerors who might endlessly brag about their conquests--or until you told them to shut up. Famous queens and kings probably wouldn’t work because they’d end up ordering you around the entire dinner. The inventors might immediately grab the iPhone out of your hand and start taking it apart. The writers would be initially intriguing, but would talk endlessly about their foibles and dysfunction. The gorgeous women of history would definitely be an option, but might spend the entire dinner talking about themselves. And Cleopatra keeps a viper in her purse. Did she tell you?

Above all, balance is key in choosing a historical dinner cast. And that balance is predicated on number. Four might be too many with unforeseen chemistry issues putting a damper on the festivities. Three seems like a good number for the slate. After all, a three legged stool or chair can find balance on the most uneven surfaces. With that in mind, here are my three choices for a dinner of the ages:

Shakespeare: the greatest writer in the history of the English language. And yes, I am going to ask him if he actually wrote everything attributed to him. Don’t worry, I’ll ask for a friend so he won’t be insulted. He probably will be anyway. I’ll just pour him more wine.

Leonardo da Vinci: to my mind, the greatest intellect of all time. From what I’ve read, he’d probably want to design the table settings and decorations, not to mention choreograph the evening’s festivities.

Josephine Baker: there are so many amazing women throughout history; Inana, Hatshepsut, Hypatia, Hildegard of Bingen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and the aforementioned Cleo. But one other woman really intrigues me. I think she’s the quiet storm of great women of the 20^th century. And not nearly enough people know about her. That is Josephine Baker, the great dancer, entertainer, and barrier-breaker. And she was also a spy for the resistance during WWII. What more could you ask?

The menu for dinner would draw upon the classics of fine cuisine paired with a slate of outstanding wines:

Le Grande Menu

Kumamoto Oysters on the half shell

Wine: 2012 Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Blanc de Blancs

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Cesar salad – crisp romaine with crunchy croutons and a bracing anchovy-laden dressing

Wine: 2018 Domaine Sigalas Assyrtiko, Santorini

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Steak Frittes – Kobe beef with goose fat or duck fat fries

Wine: 2009 Château Haut-Brion, Pessac-Leognan

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Cheese course – Stilton, Reggiano Parmesano, and Epoisses

Wine: 2002 Robert Weil Kiedricher-Gräfenberg Riesling Auslese Goldkapsul

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Chocolate pot de crème

Wine: 1991 Quinta do Noval Nacional Vintage Port

No surprise that my trio of distinguished personages would be appropriately attired for the occasion. Leo would wear the finest pastel robes as he was wont to do. Will would appear donned in a silk doublet and leather breeches but not cross-gartered like his doomed Malvolio. I should mention that Leo would be thrilled with Will’s choice of breeches. As for the gorgeous Josephine, she would wear a variation of the classic little black dress of Coco Chanel, four-inch heels, and several strands of pearls.

The conversation would start immediately and never lag, even for a moment. Most of the time it would be like the middle eight of Dave Brubeck’s Take Five with random topics from the respective points in history ping-ponging back and forth across the table. In no time, Leo would pull out one of his notebooks and start writing furiously, taking notes. After a few minutes I’d lean over and say, “dude, you’re writing backwards. What’s up with that?” Leo would shrug in response and say, “it’s just a thing.”

After a glass (or two) of the Taittinger, Will would clear his voice and announce he’d written a sonnet for the occasion. Josephine would bang a spoon on her Champagne flute with enough force to almost shatter it. Will would then rise gracefully from the table, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his doublet. Silence would quickly follow. After all, it’s not every day you get to hear Shakespeare read his own work. Then, in a voice higher-pitched and more reedy than you might think, Will would recite his new sonnet. In it he praised the beauty of simpler things and how the connection and bonds of love and friendship outlast time. As he finished, a raucous standing ovation erupted at the table. He smiled in appreciation. Jo gave him a big hug and Leo dipped his fingers into his glass of wine and sprinkled it on him.

At this point, I had to ask. After taking another sizeable snort of Champagne, I said, “Will, great sonnet, but I have to ask. Did you actually write all those plays?” Immediate silence fell on the table like someone (me) had tossed a turd in the punch bowl. Will looked at me with a combination of disbelief and hurt, and said “you cut me deep just now Shrek. You cut me real deep.” Actually, he didn’t say anything. Leo answered for him. “The answer is—and always was---unequivocally, yes.” I apologized profusely and poured more wine. Thankfully, the moment passed.

The meal was delicious. Throughout, Jo was moving and grooving in her chair to unheard music. It seemed like there was a never-ending soundtrack playing in her head. I leaned over at one point and said, “the things you did for the resistance during the war were amazing. Can you tell us about them.” She simply shook her head and smiled in response. Then she got up from the table and told us she wanted to dance. That she had to dance. And dance she did. Leo quickly joined her. In no time, the four of us ended up in a conga line and proceeded to traverse the perimeter of the dining room multiple times.

And then dinner was over. Hugs and thanks were showered. Jo invited Leo and Will to an after hours jazz joint at the edge of the universe. Will asked that I keep reading his works. Leo urged me to always be curious. And Jo winked at me and said to just remember her. As if that wouldn’t happen.

Then they were gone. As I went to clear the table, I spotted Leo’s napkin on his chair. I picked it up and found that he had drawn something on it. It was a cartoon of the four of us having dinner accompanied by several lines of backwards scrawl. Curious indeed. And curious always.