Dinner at Telluride
Communism, Capitalism and Creme Brule
Stamford Connecticut is a not a real place. The city is really a corporate park, hardly anything else- it has no character, and it seems entirely without Churches. Being too close to New York City it has little local culture at all- the talent slithers down the Metro North New Haven line into the Big Apple. What is left are corporate offices and those institutions needed to sustain them- restaurants and bars. Luckily being in Ct. it benefits from some of the WASPy snobbery found throughout the south and east of that fine state.
On one fair night last week, I took the same New Haven line train from Grand Central to Stamford. My lovely ladyfriend picked me up to join her and her coworkers for dinner. If they were merely the stereotype of their job it would have been a boring evening, for I was to be dining with five accountants from one of the Big Four accounting firms. It was a multi-ethnic dinner at one of the finer Stamford establishments Telluride. I sat with my aforementioned gorgeous ladyfriend, a stunning blonde American girl (Jackie), a South African woman of Indian descent (Anisa), an exchange program worker from China (Libby) and another from Italy (Masismo) - the only other man at the table - who made a point of kissing the cheeks of Jackie twice before dinner - in the “I can get away with it because I am from Italy” fashion.
I was still “dressed for work”. In the city, on a casual day, that meant bootcut jeans atop my black Chelsea boots, a dress shirt and a grey suit jacket. Jeans were formerly considered the workwear of the proletariat, the gray jacket that of the organization man. Although I looked like all the other swans in the NYC pond, conceptually my outfit was ridiculous.
Massimo, the only Mediterranean and therefore designated oenephile, chose the moderately priced Jacob Creek Shiraz from their advertised selection of 312 wines. Excellent body, fruity! Well done, Massimo. He ordered Buffalo, “I’ve never had buffalo.” And I ordered the tenderloin (medium rare of course) which was accompanied by potato au gratin and asparagus. On the orders of Dr. Agatston I tried to avoid the potato. Alas.
As my ladyfriend, Jackie and Anisa became lost in some inter-office gossip, Libby was inquiring to me about the American fascination with poker. I explained as best I could and we were soon talking about the political status of the former Portuguese gambling colony Macao. Libby related to me that Macao still is a center of gambling and that China allows it to maintain a separate political system. I had to ask about Taiwan.
“What about Taiwan? Do you think it is a part of China?” Libby explained that in China, there is no talk about Taiwan being separate. She said that all Chinese propaganda (her word) described Taiwan as one and the same with the mainland. When I pressed her for HER opinion on the matter, she explained that she believed that fifteen or twenty years ago Taiwan would have returned to the mainland because its inhabitants still had so many memories and connections to mainland China, but now there was a whole generation of people who consider themselves Taiwanese. I offered my opinion that I didn’t think the American people or government would actually go to war with China to save Taiwan from political integration with the mainland. Libby was shocked. I had to rehearse a few bits about American military over commitment and the mutual economic dependence of China and the United States- but she picked up quickly. We also agreed that whatever differences it would be awful if China and the United States ever came to be at total war with each other.
Libby added that China was reforming, and would let Taiwan keep its political arrangements. She said that the government no longer cared about keeping the people communist. If they allowed for the market to provide a “good life” for some of the people, than those people would remain loyal to the state. She expressed doubts that the masses of rural poor would ever rise above their current poverty. We did not touch on whether the good life China sought for its people included any political liberty- I suspect it did not.
“Are we boring you?” I asked Massimo. My ladyfriend had not scoldingly shook my arm to signal me to stop talking about ‘boring stuff’, because she was lost in her own conversation.
“No. Not at all.” he said. Then, “But sometimes, I can’t understand what you are saying”. He was referring to our American and Chinese accents.
“Since we are talking about communism, is it still very popular in Italy? Have you heard of Antonio Gramsci?” I asked. I related how I had been reading about Antonio Gramsci by way of right-wing radical theorist Sam Francis, who studied his theories of political strategy and sought to adapt them for a conservative counter-revolution.
“Yes I know Gramsci. He is the most famous Italian communist’” So far, so good. Then without really a trace of irony he related that the building in Italy, out of which he normally works for this giant American accounting firm, was formerly the offices of the Italian communist party. There is still a giant statue of Gramsci in the lobby. “I walk by it everyday.”
I was astounded by this vision.
Communism sought to destroy religion in society through coercion, and with revolutionary means it would also reveal that life IS economics. However it is in capitalist nations that secularism was accomplished without any major bumps along the way. And today in America, the mood of the country is more the product of the Dow Jones than it has ever been of liturgical calendars. China doesn’t care any longer which system it runs as long as it provides for the “good life” for those whose loyalty to the system is essential. In Italy, one of the remaining Big Four American capitalist accounting firms has no compunction to tear down a statue of one of the most influential communist theorists. It’s as if two creatures of light, tired of their pledge to eternal warfare, collapsed into each other’s arms shouting “Brother!” - and collapsed further - their bodies interpenetrating until they formed one luminous body.
I closed my eyes and took another sip of my wine. Our chatter petered out over desert South Beach be damned for this perfect night, I would finish with Creme Brule.
Just before leaving Telluride on the unnoted Maundy Thursday my ladyfriend put her hand on my arm and said, to me only, “You know, you look really good in that.” Giggling, Jackie’s eyes caught mine. I smiled but looked down. I pulled the napkin off my denim covered lap. With my laborless hand I adjusted the pocket square in my Armani suit jacket. Jackie caught my eyes again. A glow seemed to rest on everyone. Deep contented sighs, gin blossoms and furtive glances all around. The Shiraz swirled around my sated palate.
“You know, you’re right. It really suits me. I do look good.”
