Other Dining Experiences

As I was being walked through a client’s probable $17 million condo, I was presented with a dinky space described as “a potential dining room, or whatever.”

This made me flash back to the memory of a spec-house builder who was proudly sweeping his fleshy hands in the air as he quickly walked us by a teensy alcove described as “a bonus space or dining room.” He then accelerated us forward to the great room/family room/kitchen/media/game/breakfast, lunch and dinner room, slash ...

It is becoming apparent that the fine art of dining is losing its real estate and retreating to the 16th century—when a “great room” provided space for everything from eating, entertaining and working, to a little corner where a corn-husk-stuffed mattress could sleep up to six. Lately, as well, if one observes the square footage gobbled up by the kitchen islands (seating from four to eight stools), one would be confused as to whether this dining experience provides the efficiency of diner hash slinging or a level platform for a corporate helicopter landing.

The concept of sitting down together at a table in a designated dining room is diminishing rapidly. And thus, despite a proliferation of The Food Channel’s star chef shows and locavore awareness, the art of fine cooking is celebrated but heaven forbid that the art of fine dining be celebrated.

If the dining room is shrinking and the idea of being relegated to the kitchen hash counter is wearing you down, follow the lead of the Canada geese. As their natural feeding habitats are consumed by development and their migration time clocks messed up by global warming, Canada geese have discovered other dining opportunities. They just drop in to the nearest inviting suburban backyard or attractive golf course or nicely maintained bluegrass lawn with decorative koi pond from which to feed.

Your home and garden, apart from your dining alcove and kitchen, is ripe with dining opportunities—just like those that the Canada geese have.

My good friend Susan surprised us the other night by laying out a sumptuous spread in her breezeway, which links her garage to her home. An easily removable candlelit chandelier was hooked to the center of the ceiling, an Italian porcelain tabletop was lifted onto a pedestal, and a work table became a sideboard displaying a buffet of summer salads, chops and couscous.

Susan created an intimate setting for four with her festive coral-patterned china accented by fresh pink hydrangeas, aqua napkins and outdoor iron chairs festooned with cheerful linen print cushions. The surprise of dining in a breezeway was delightful: windows on either side and a rustic utilitarian floor surrounded by an umbrella stand, Wellies and garden clogs.

Many of our East End homes have second floor decks, seldom used, that are built off of a master or guest bedroom. I have one myself. It commands the best view of Gardiner’s Bay that I have, and it has always been a shame to selfishly squander this on myself.

Though the master is the most intimate of rooms, it is frequently the most beautiful. And marching a troupe of diners through is nothing to apologize for (just please make the bed).

Our guests love hiking through the bedroom only to throw open the French doors to a magnificent view and a well-set table. I leave a worn outdoor table on the deck and throw a fabulous linen tablecloth over it (protecting the linen with an old quilt underneath that gives a thick lushness to the cloth). Cut-crystal glasses catch the rays of the sun and throw rainbow sparkles over the white cloth. The silver of the cutlery glints, my blue and white china mimics the blues of Gardiner’s Bay and an arrangement of chartreuse green leaves feathered with crowns of Queen Anne’s lace adds to the charm.

At the same time, a cubed stack of Bistrian’s yellow watermelon, crumbled Catapano Farm’s goat cheese and dimpled mint leaves are playing a star color performance amidst all this blue and white. A culinary success, as well as a visual triumph, is under way.

Designer Tom Fleming from Water Mill entertains with great flair—sometimes in his entry foyer.

Atop a brick floor, on an Oriental rug and in front of a roaring fire, we have enjoyed a terrific winter feast. Lit only by candlelight and the pinion-wood fire, a skirted-to-the-floor table, set with Imari porcelain and pewter goblets, it was positively one of the most atmospheric dining memories, which we will always relish. Once again, a unique setting in a unique spot set the stage.

My friends George and Marcos entertain within their iron gazebo, which they have so cleverly assembled with four arched-iron arbors and an iron dome. They grew yellow trumpet vine and purple clematis up it so that once inside you are enshrouded by a dark green web protecting you from the hot August sun.

A simple French bistro table and folding iron park chairs, similar to those that are scattered in the Bois de Boulogne, lightly grace the gravel path below. A gentle breeze always wafts through the porous swath of vines and the table is brightly set with black and white Transferware, black-and-white-striped napkins and their famous endive and lobster salad is a treat never to be missed.

Despite Rex Harrison’s gruff manner, the meals served in his library—clad in rows of books, a leopard-spotted carpet and richly lacquered walls—must have been a great invitation and deeply coveted. In fact, this famous room will most likely inspire the tiny alcove dining space provided for in my client’s new apartment. What could be more enveloping than dinner in a library filled with the knowledge of the ages?

Perhaps the shriveled concept of the dining room is not so disastrous if it allows us to conjure up other experiences. My garage once became host to a dinner that, according to many of my friends, was most memorable.

Once the manure was removed and the scent of compost had blown away, an environment of tools and shovels, garden equipment and hoses only became an evocative shelter for an early harvest September meal. With a raging storm outside (that had put a damper on the September garden party), we celebrated on plywood tables with bamboo cutlery, checked napkins, hundreds of votives and plenty of wine.

As is often the case, good friends, good stories and a great location were key that day to a fantastic dining experience. So when it’s time to entertain again, think of all that your home has to offer, and maybe just mix it up a bit.