Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights: Recipes for Every Season, Mood, and Appetite by Sophie Dahl

Author:Sophie Dahl
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-02-14T11:00:00+00:00

“Have you met Steven Meisel?” The dream-girl makeup artist, Pat McGrath, whom I knew from those early days in London, was tapping my arm.

“No,” I said. “Well, he’s over there, and would like to meet you.”

The word icon is bandied around in fashion, but Steven Meisel is the real deal. He is an extraordinary photographer, responsible for some of the most memorable images taken in the last twenty years. His work is constantly shifting shape and evolving, never tired. The shoots that he did in the early nineties with Linda Evangelista, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell and Christy Turlington defined the zeitgeist of that decade, and created superstars in the process. Eighteen years on, he is still turning out the sort of work that makes other people wonder why they even bothered. His Italian Vogue covers are works of art in themselves, and represent a turning point in the career of the girl they feature. Here he was, with long black hair and a beautiful, impassive face.

“Hello,” he said.

We chatted very briefly, and I went back to my dancing. “Well, that was interesting,” I thought. It just seemed an apropos passing lovely moment, in a night full of them.

A few days later my agency called me in a froth of excitement.

“You’ve been booked to go to India, for W magazine just before Christmas, shooting in Goa with Tim Walker.”

I thought about what I was going to eat for breakfast in India and became excruciatingly excited.

Tim Walker was another blessing, a completely original, kind, brilliant Englishman. His shoots begin with his notebooks, which are like diving into Alice in Wonderland. In these notebooks the seedlings of the shoot lie. He photographs everything with a whimsy and magic that for me is what fashion should be: fantastical, curious, irreverent and fun, with a course of elegance and beauty flowing through it.

We were in India for ten days. We ate ourselves silly; dosas, lassis, coconut milk curries. It was heady and exciting, shooting in fields of marigolds and crumbling marble-floored palaces in Goa, dancing in clouds of tulle through empty, echoing ballrooms filled with hot pink balloons. Posing like a Vargas girl in a scarlet Norma Kamali swimsuit on the beach at sunset, followed by a glass of the powerful local hooch which made your throat burn to hell and tears stream down your face.

The day before we left to go back to New York, I was called to the front desk of the hotel, where the one phone resided. My booker’s joy was all the more magnified in the trans -atlantic echo.

Cuba smells like the earth after it has rained

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