|
|
|
|
 |
  |
Fate, or coincidence? Just as the Philadelphia Museum is celebrating surrealist couturier Elsa Schiaparelli, Paris's Pompidou Center is focusing on her sometime collaborator Jean Cocteau.
Mad hatter Philip Treacy has long paid Dalí-esque lip service to surrealism, and he's no longer alone. Among the new season's offerings: Solange Azagury-Partridge's "melting chocolate" ring for Boucheron; Eugenia Kim's cigarette-heeled shoes; Chanel's vinyl "record" bags; and Yazbukey's "pigtail" headphones.
Baccarat asked Philippe Starck to build a crystal palace inside the former residence of surrealist patroness Marie-Laure de Noailles. The fantastical results: a crystal chair sized for the jolly Green Giant, tattooed carpets, and—as in a Cocteau movie—mirrors with disembodied arms. Le tout Paris is agog.
The Baccarat mansion has its own restaurant, but for truly gender-defying cuisine, head to Spain. Ferran Adria started it all with confections like pig-fat covered cherries at El Bulli, the nouveau Spanish temple located a few miles from Dalí's birthplace. Adria's disciples range from fellow countryman Martin Berasategui (oyster ice cream, anyone?) to New York's own Wylie Dufresne.
Alternatively, go straight to the source and track down a copy of Les Diners de Gala, Dalí's notorious, out-of-print cookbook featuring such delicacies as "Sodomized Entrees" and "Soft Watches Half Asleep." Or order takeout and dig into the just-published fourth volume of diaries from Cecil Beaton. The man who put surreal fashion images into Vogue supplies a shocking mix of high society and (delicious) low gossip.
—Janet Ozzard and Laird Borrelli
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
RSS content feeds
podcasts