Every artist has a shining sliver of ice lodged in their heart.
Every part of her is artist.
She, though, does not work with brushes or staves, instead with blades.
Knives as sharp and flexible as her clear soul cut infallibly through each pitch perfect ingredient preparing the meticulous meals she insists on serving outdoors once sunshine comes.
Sashimis, ceviches and carpaccios so fresh they deceive as clean flesh and not fish and fruit they are.
All served with lemon herb dressings on long oblong green glass platters, amongst plain vases filled with honeysuckle stems.
Her kitchen, open to the elements and curious eyes alike, is at the centre of a moss lawn.
She, in impeccable whites, is at its centre commanding circling sous chefs to: tweak starched table clothes, excite palettes with unexpected basil, rearrange tabletop arrangements of jasmine and red carnations, pass around cleansing melon millefeuille entr’acte.
If any apparent fracture in her composure appears, the fissure is mere momentary illusion, she huffs to her herbaceous borders simply to hasten patchouli plants into perfume and achieve aromatic perfection for her paying clientele.
The meal ends with a peach desert as peerless as the operatic dame soprano whose name it bears.
Our lady of the knives acknowledges her audience.
Taking a curtain call on her kitchen stage she is all curtsies clutching a bouquet of cutting edges.
Diorella by Dior is no chef d’oeuvre to be trifled with.
An exacting, precise, cerebral perfume it is not a work but an embodiment of art.
Taking the basic chypre recipe and deploying Occam’s razor all fat is removed, all excess skimmed off: only lean muscle, fresh peeled fruit and salient floral seasoning remain.
The bill of fare may be read as unremarkable: lemon, oakmoss, basil, bergamot, a melodius melon, a few greens, a soft peach and a sprig or two of patchouli.
Oh, and that heart rending honeysuckle.
But each part is of the highest quality and it is the genius of their deployment, not the pretensions of their provenance that, gives the dishes as served their unrivalled effect.
The courses run sparkling citrus, through green floral heart to fruit and soil conclusion flawlessly.
Everything because of a single genius.
There is no man or woman in the kitchen, merely the one in charge in whites.
Diorella is Chef.
The Perfumed Dandy is lucky enough to own an older version of Diorella. The current reconstruction is a different, happy lemon sort of a scent, though not entirely to be sniffed at.
The Perfumed Dandy.