Diner en Blanc — dinner in white — is an enchanting idea. Guests, dressed in their finest whites, learn last-minute the unlikely location of their meal — say, outside Lincoln Center. Exhibiting, in the words of the international organization, “decorum, elegance, and etiquette,” they stage a posh picnic.
I’m all for unlikely, for elegance, for picnic, though in the 30 years since a guy named Francois Pasquier suggested his friends get together in a park, in white, I’ve never attended the event. The secret society meets in Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic, and Abidjan, Ivory Coast, and other spots I frequent infrequently. Like, never.
In fact, the whole project, while very public — who can miss 10,000 Parisians, in white, dining under the Eiffel Tower — it’s also very private. You have to be invited.
Instead, I pull together my own white night. I prepare an all-white meal — steamed haddock, stewed cannellini beans, slivered endive, roasted cauliflower warmed with garlic and anchovy. I cue up the remastered “White Album.” Dressed in an elegantly distressed white T-shirt, I reveal the location — kitchen table — and enjoy Diner en Blanc, home-style.