Winter Wonderwhirling: Day 6

Have you ever woken up completely surrounded by luxurious 1930’s dressing gowns? I have a few times but until my first morning in Boston, that experience had been limited to my dreams. When it comes to sumptuous fabrics and feminine cuts, there has never been an era like the '30s and I often dream of Myrna Loy's wardrobe.

Delaney Byrne is the only person I’ve ever met who owns more vintage than I do and our shared adoration of all things 30’s and ’40s is possibly the strongest pillar of our friendship. Her everyday style is heavily 50’s inspired, but there is no shortage of silk bias-cut gems in her collection — her favorite is a series of '30s dressing gowns that line the wall of her bedroom next to my air mattress.

I don’t have many vintage clothes suitable for winter, but I did pack one outfit especially for this day. I’d planned to bring my great grandma’s Pendleton jacket to wear with it, but an awful wave of practicality swept over me just as I was leaving home and I’d decided to swap it out for my warmer, very boring, very brown, but very warm, winter coat. 

Thankfully Delaney has several vintage coats and let me wear one of hers with my vintage outfit so I wouldn’t have to ruin it with my ugly brown coat. 

I’d packed a late 1940’s white brocade dress that I recently rescued from an antique store near my hometown in Oregon. It had been a wedding gown at one time, but someone had obviously taken shears to it in the ’80s and turned it very haphazardly into a winter formal dress or costume for a school play. They’d used a portion of the train to create a giant bow in the front and the hem was very wobbly. Most of the seams had started to tear, but I needed to take the dress in a couple of sizes anyway. It cleaned up to be one of my favorite dresses in my entire collection and I was excited to pair it with my new Sam Edelman platform heels. 

Every year I allow myself one new pair of “fun shoes” and the pair I’d ordered earlier in 2021 wound up being too big and by the time I got them returned they didn’t have any smaller sizes in stock. Finally, in November, I was able to find a pair I liked even more and they came in time for my trip. 

It went against all of my packing policies to bring a chunky pair of shoes that I would likely only wear for one day. I usually don't allow myself to bring shoes that might cause sore feet the next day too as you walk a LOT on these trips and you must be kind to your feet, but I had already lost the practicality battle over the coats, so the pretty shoes got to come. 

Delaney dressed in a 1950’s green and blue brocade dress that had a similar motif to mine and she paired it with a cropped fur coat, emerald choker, and velvet pumps. 

We started the day with free breakfast (very on-brand for Delaney) at the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum. Delaney is a museum member and it just so happened that they were hosting a member's brunch. We checked our coats and sat down at the cafe with plates of tiny croissants, fresh fruit, and exquisite blue bottles of “spring water” next to the window overlooking the courtyard. 

Delaney told me about her Ireland adventure that she had with her brother a couple of years back when they’d finished college. The trip had included lots of rain, dancing, sleeping in a castle, riding in a helicopter to a tiny island, and an ancient burial site. We talked about the places we want to see, enjoying the sun from the window, until we noticed the cleaning crew taking breakfast away. We eventually remembered that we were at a museum to look at art, not just to talk about all of our favorite things. 

The museum was built in 1898–1901 by Isabella Stewart Gardner (1840–1924), an American art collector, philanthropist, and patron of the arts in the style of a 15th-century Venetian palace. It opened to the public in 1903. In her will, Isabella called for her art collection to be permanently exhibited "for the education and enjoyment of the public forever.” 

So far, her wish has been granted!

The museum is a breathtaking compilation of important artworks scattered marvelously haphazardly, yet fittingly throughout the mansion. It was built around the art. Pillars, sculptures, stained glass, tiles, and light fixtures from every corner of the globe were carefully incorporated into the architecture and every wallpaper and room color was chosen with their respective paintings in mind. 

Gardner collected and carefully displayed a collection of more than 7500 paintings, sculptures, furniture, textiles, silver, ceramics, 1500 rare books, and 7000 archival objects from ancient Rome, Medieval Europe, Renaissance Italy, Asia, the Islamic world, 19th-century France and America. You’ll recognize works by Titian, Rembrandt, Michelangelo, Raphael, Botticelli, Manet, Degas, Whistler, Sargent, and Matisse in that group. 

We entered the courtyard sparkling with fountains, greenery, and sculptures, you were met by the Spanish cloister designed specifically for John Singer Sargent’s El Jaleo depicting a Spanish Gypsy dancer performing to the accompaniment of musicians. Sargent is a favorite of Delaney’s, so she was able to tell me a lot about the history of the painting and Sargent’s relationship with Gardner. 

“Sargent’s monumental painting, based on drawings he made in southern Spain in 1879, is named for an Andalusian dance and is roughly translated as “the ruckus.” This is a painting you can hear as well as see: heels clicking, fingers snapping,hands clapping, the sounds of singing and guitars.” -The Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum

We took time to look at and talk about almost every painting and delighted in how each room was put together. There is no one better to go through art museums in Boston with than Delaney, because not only does she live there and have many of the same tastes as mine, but she was also able to add an art history minor to her science studies at Columbia. I had never heard of Isabella Stewart Gardener before visiting Boston, but by the time we got to the end of the museum where we could see her glorious portrait by Sargent, I felt like I knew her almost intimately. You can get to know a lot about a person by walking through their home and seeing what was important to them, and in her case, how she chose to be depicted for her portriat.

Gardner was a small woman with a large personality. She held reverence for the human experience. She was well-traveled and well educated, which was not incredibly common of women in those days. She wasn’t deeply religious or political, but she had people from every belief and walk of life at her table. She had a reputation for her stylish tastes and unconventional behavior.

She had both a prayer chapel and an Asian meditation room. I loved that about her. Her artifacts all held an almost spiritual meaning to her, and it was important to her that they all be shared with the world. 

I had adopted her as a hero well before we made our way back to the cloakroom. 

Our minds had burned through the calories provided by the mini croissants and fruit long before we were done at the museum, so lunch was a very exciting prospect by the time we finally made it out of there. We took the train to Chinatown in search of dumplings and egg tarts. I don’t have a minor in dumplings and egg tarts, but I turned out to be a pretty good Chinatown guide for Delaney, who hadn’t been there yet either. I’ve eaten enough of both by now that I would guess an honorary degree is in order. We exchanged roles of guide and tourist and I did my best to at least pretend I knew what I was talking about when reviewing a handful of menus for good dumplings. 

“This one has too many good reviews,” I explained. “If they have this many they can get lazy and they don’t have to make their dumplings as good.” 

Dumplings at Taiwan Cafe, 34 Oxford St

I scrolled through until I found a hole-in-the-wall sort of place with a medium amount of reviews. “See, these guys are small but popular enough to want to grow. I bet their dumplings are top-notch.” 

I had no idea what I was talking about of course, but Delaney was kind enough to entrust her stomach to me. We climbed the stairs to the Taiwan Cafe and were seated near a full table of heaping plates and happy faces. Between that and the unsolicited arrival of strong green tea, I knew we had picked a good one. 

We ordered shrimp dumplings and fried taro with salted duck yolk. Our mouths were watering when the server set our order before us and every succulent bite of dumpling turned out to be the new highlight of my life. When a moment of silence had passed for the perfect dumplings, we talked about food and how it brings people together. We talked about what we like to cook and the foods we want to try. I think it was our first real conversation about food and possibly one of my favorites of the trip. 

We left the cafe a little giddy off of good art and great food, but we had saved room for dessert. We tried an egg tart and a moon cake (both firsts for Delaney), and we did some Christmas shopping for our mothers at a Korean beauty supply store. Neither treats turned out to be spectacular, but it was delightful popping and out of the little bakeries with our beautifully packaged goods.

We had entertained the idea of high tea at the Ritz, but it would be impossible to get a reservation that late. We were just a few blocks away though and both needed to get rid of all that tea we’d drank with our dumplings at lunch. 

So we did visit The Ritz, but it was only to pee and re-apply our lipstick. We walked through the lobby like we were just heading up to our rooms after attending the ballet to dress for dinner. Our performance was convincing, or perhaps no one noticed us at all because we made it to the enormous granite-countered lavatory without any drama. We took our time with our cosmetics and hair fluffing in the giant well-lit mirrors, watching glamorous women in three thousand dollar shoes trottle in and out. 

After our very fancy trip to The Ritz, we walked to an old cobblestone street packed with unique shops. It happened to be a street-wide event night, so in true Delaney fashion, we enjoyed free champagne and charcuterie in several little stores that we wandered in out of. We circled a cheese platter at an antique store four times before we decided we had probably more than over-eaten our welcome and moved on. 

Free Champagne at an antique store, anyone?

We were in another antique shop, definitely catching up with all the free champagne we’d enjoyed when I was telling Delaney about a tragedy concerning my mom’s favorite books earlier in the year. When my mom moved into a short-term apartment, she had boxed up some of her more precious things to store in her mom’s shed for safekeeping until she moved into a new long-term house. 

Coincidently, my grandparents host an enormous charity auction every year and my mom’s most valuable books somehow got mixed up in the donations. I was at the auction and purchased a few books not knowing they had been my mom’s. When I showed them to her later, she was almost sick realizing that they were her books and all the others had been sold too! 

Her favorite and most grieved ones in the group were part of a rare children’s series by Thornton Burgess. I was just telling Delaney about the books and how upset my mom had been about the whole thing when we rounded a corner to find the exact series I was mentioning. I didn’t think twice about whether I had room for them or not. I just scooped them up and took them to the counter. 

I already had my heart set on buying them no matter the price, but if my grandpa has taught me anything about antique shopping it’s that the price tags in antique stores are more “suggested prices,” and actual set prices. 

I probably embarrassed the socks of Delaney with my haggling as I explained that what you have to do is offer a number that’s roughly the same distance below the number you want to pay as your number is from the original price tag. The books, for example, were priced per item so I automatically knew I could offer less to take the whole set. 

I demonstrated all of this to Delaney, landing exactly where I wanted to with the final number, which was pure luck as grandpa’s tactics don’t work everywhere. I especially didn’t have high expectations for a fancy little shop in the heart of Boston. 

We left feeling a little high on our conquest and all the splendor of the day and decided to celebrate over cocktails at a place near Delaney’s apartment called Pammy’s. 

The Art Nouveau Style bar was dimly lit with chandeliers. The counter was marble and we sat across from a gorgeous goddess sculpture and rich greenery. I asked the bartender to surprise me with something pink and we passed an hour or two sitting at the bar talking about our heritage, our grandparents, and the way the people who came before us paved the way for us to be where we were, among the first generation in our families of women to be college-educated and have considerably more opportunities at our ages than those before us. 

We tipped the bartender and walked a few blocks to a quaint little Mediterranean restaurant that we had mostly to ourselves. We shared hummus and cucumber salad and ended the day full and completely thankful for the human experience and how much we had been able to witness it that day.