Too Many Voices at the Table?

Substack is loud, dinner is smoky, fashion week is fun.

Feeling mildly crowded out by the Substack stampede. What was once a quiet corner now feels like a full-blown cocktail party, The Derek Blasbergs and Plum Sykes have arrived; even my bother Ashley and niece Anjelica have pulled up chairs. Meanwhile, I’ve been quietly tapping away here on Substack for two years—believe it or not, this is my 111th post.

Substack, they say, thrives on consistency, clarity, and connection. But also—crucially—on being valuable and insightful. I do worry I offer very little in the way of a coherent train of thought. One minute I’m writing about Lady Pamela’s tiara, the next I’m talking about snakes on the island.

I was listening to Joe Rogan’s podcast while marching up a small French mountain this week. He was interviewing Charlie Sheen, who admitted—fairly early on—to regularly losing his train of thought. Joe suggested it might be due to years of testosterone cream and cocaine. I don’t even have that excuse.

Which brings us to this week’s post: fire-cooked dinners in France and fashion shows in New York.

Francis Mallmann, the godfather of fire cooking, tending his BBQ

On Friday, Francis Mallmann cooked dinner in the garden of La Coste, using nothing but fire, smoke, iron, and what appeared to be pure Argentine witchcraft. As we sat down, he welcomed us and explained a little of his methods—in French, because we were in France, after all. And while my rusty French caught the odd poetic phrase, many of my neighbors didn’t stand a chance—they just nodded politely and hoped for bread.

Francis Mallmann’s cooking by fire is a theatrical celebration of primal technique, where flames, embers, and smoke become ingredients as essential as salt. His signature methods—like the infiernillo and rescaldo—honor ancient Patagonian traditions and result in food that’s simple, slow-cooked, and full of deep, smoky flavor. Quite amazing to experience.

Before dinner, we’d been whisked through Château La Coste's cultural estate, where my shameful lack of art knowledge was laid bare—particularly galling given my father’s encyclopedic grasp and my brother’s brilliant architectural tours (posted here on Substack). Still, I appreciate art that stirs something, even if that something is bewilderment or indignation (“my daughter did that at seven”). The art at La Coste did not disappoint—it provoked. Reactions ranged from gasps to muttered blasphemy.

I think fashion, like art, is also at its best when it stirs something—whether admiration or unease—because its power lies in the emotional response it provokes, not just the way it looks. Whether it’s desire, discomfort, or defiance—if it says nothing, well then… is it really fashion?

Earlier this week I attended the TWP fashion show. Trish, the designer, and Andrew, the founder, are friends of mine—so naturally I’ll always be cheerleading from the sidelines. But beyond friendship, I love the clothes. TWP manages that elusive balance: pieces that feel relaxed but refined. There’s an ease to the silhouettes, a quiet confidence in the details. Like good art, they create an immediate reaction—not just in how they look, but in how they make you feel.

Molly Sims, Marlien Rentmeester and myself , TWP’ed.

Talking of how things make you feel… I was introduced to Rummikub this weekend. I know, I know—I wasn’t late to the Substack party, but I am late to this. Rummikub is one of those games that starts off feeling gentle and civilised—tiles clinking, everyone murmuring numbers—and then, suddenly it descends into quiet psychological warfare. It’s a mix of rummy and mahjong, played with numbered tiles you have to group into runs or sets. Seems simple enough… until someone dramatically rearranges the entire board to play one tile and leaves the rest of you staring at the chaos like it’s modern algebra.

Just chaotic enough to ruin friendships for a few hours—highly recommended.