SEAFOOD & EAT IT….

After closing a spectacular deal last Monday, my husband J decided to celebrate. Not by whisking me off to a minute Maldivian island – oh no, no, no. He came home to announce that the last two months of anxious breath holding were over, that the deal was in the bag - and that he’d invited his CEO to dinner…

Now don’t get me wrong - I do like The Boss. We’ve spoken at various glamorous events that he’s hosted, and he always remembers my name, and what I do (whether its my eponymous business or my lingering charm that impresses, I can’t be sure…) But - he has never, until now, been to our home.

The square footage of his house is like ours…but to the power of ten. Plus a butler. He skis in Zermatt and summers in Sardinia. He shoots, fishes and hunts and is on first name terms with second tier royalty. So far, so what? I hear you ask. It’s certainly not his social contacts and calendar that unnerve me. It’s the perfectly laid tables he’s sat at, where distances between the cutleries and glassware are measured with rulers. Yikes! Gulp.

‘I am an expert’ I told myself. ‘Promise me you won’t panic’. ‘Ok, you’re right’ said me ‘I’ll stay calm’. Then I went behind my back and had a mini-meltdown. It was only when J reiterated his faith in my entertaining skills, and reminded me that I had four days until the event (on Friday night) that I breathed fresh confidence back into my bones. 

I imagine much in The Boss’s life is monogrammed. Was there time to personalize some linen napkins, I wondered? Would he prefer duck egg blue or emerald green? And should that match or contrast with the napkin of his graceful wife? Or perhaps just a subtle, colorful hemstitch? No, I thought. Pure white. On this occasion, I would let the elegant linen speak for itself.

My menu ideas were challenging each other to duels at dawn: I was suddenly over inspired. On Thursday, I was invited to a private view of the explosively exotic work of Indian artist Rina Banerjee at the Haunch of Venison gallery in Piccadilly. Hmmm….venison, with a redcurrant jus? No, out of season (and out of my league, cooking wise.) Then I got a call from my godson’s mother: would I come to Dorset next weekend? My brain suddenly clicked: Crab! Dorset Crab! In season, and no cooking required!

I went to town and created a seafood extravaganza. Spring flowers in vases, delicate lemon fingerbowls and all the tools and implements. When it came to the arrangement of cutlery and my own Flo Spots Glass platters neatly stacked with juicy fruits de mer, I made all the rules (and threw out the ruler.) And judging by the relish with which The Boss excavated beneath shell and ate every tender morsel, I hadn’t made a single faux-pas.

His handwritten note, delivered by his driver the next day, said simply ‘Thank you, Scarlett… Cracking good fun!’

So – great success all round…Oh me of little faith!

Scarlett Willow