Bash Compactor: A Gross(man) Night
What happens when you throw three gimmicks together and call it an event? Answer: Last Thursday’s "Pop Art Pop Up" party at The Sanctuary Hotel, the latest of Alan Philips’ "The Feast" events.
Step 1: Hire designer Devinn Bruce to spruce up the first floor of your soon-to-open hotel by covering the exposed brick with imitations of works by Keith Haring and Roy Lichtenstein.
Step 2: Get 15-year-old proto-celebrity chef Greg Grossman to cook your guests a five-course meal.
Step 3: Call it a pop-up party, because the hotel lobby’s not even ready to officially open—although the rooms upstairs are finished.
In attendance was Real Househusband of New York Bobby Zarin, notably sans wife Jill for most of the night. When she showed up two hours late, she informed me that she’d had good reason to be delayed: She had just been on The Sean Hannity Show, filmed a block from the party. "Now that’s an item!" she told me. "A cab ride around the block? Write that in your paper." And here we thought most pushy old bats took the bus.
As far as the food was concerned, wunderkind Grossman went for the obvious format: each course was inspired by a different star of the Pop Art world. For an "amuse bouche," Jeff Koons’ "Balloon Dog (Orange)" spawned a slab of liquid-nitrogen-frozen carrot, which was dusted with lemongrass, Stilton, coconut and cardamom. It was highly unwieldy, difficult to attack with my fork and tasted bizarre, just like Koons. The rest of the dinner was much more to my liking, but I’m hardly a dining critic and the Club Monaco-style techno music remixes blaring at an ungodly volume made the food somewhat beside the point.
The second course was a spiral-cut tomato sprinkled with pea-sized scallops and kernels of corn. Around the edges of the plate were eight dipping dots, each representing a dot from Damien Hirst’s "Lysergic Acid Diethylamide." (No LSD included.) Finally, at 10:15, the third course (and first sizable dish), described as "Beef, Lamb, Salon & Bass In Monochromes," arrived. Apres Andy Warhol’s psychedelically colored, four-faced "Marilyn Monroe," the four different proteins were sectioned off in different quadrants, each propped atop an oddly colored veggie bed. Next was a single slab of New York strip steak drawn from Roy Lichtenstein’s comic-book illustration, "Meat." The dessert course was the strongest, so perhaps Grossman ought to go the pastry-chef route. With fennel, yuzu, mango, white chocolate and strawberry, the Takashi Murakami-style sweet was absolutely mind-blowing.
For what it’s worth, guest Patricia Field thought the food was "interesting," and Grossman was a good sport. When I asked him how many people were working under him, he said, "Under me? Well, working with me we have 30 people in the kitchen."
Food aside, the party was a success despite the gimmickry—which is, I suppose, what the less jaded, paying guests were enjoying. The whole affair was commendably absurd, from warbler Akram Sedkaoui walking around belting out cheesy standards to a sassy group of five hired dancing ladies in bright red dresses enjoying Robyn’s "Hang With Me."
As La Zarin went to leave, she asked why I was there—with my baby face and penchant for dancing with strangers, she thought I was one of the 15-year-old chef’s friends. No, I thought, I just work with him.