There’s nowhere I’d rather be in LA on New Year’s Eve than at Lucques in West Hollywood, so we got a jump on reservations. Each December 31, the restaurant rings in the New Year with a totally unforgettable—even through the Champagne haze—themed menu. Three years ago it was a Scottish Hogmanay night complete with bagpipers and the staff kitted out in kilts. It was also the first time my now-husband dropped the “L” bomb, and I remember wearing a dusty pink Loy and Ford “Fortuny” pleated skirt and a feather stole. The following year, a spectacular Venetian theme prevailed, with guests in feathered masks and courtiers juggling in the aisles. I will never forget wearing what has become my favorite dress—a silk chiffon handkerchief-hem Sass & Bide frock—because that was the night my husband proposed, getting down on one knee by our table out on the patio. I wore that dress six months later on our honeymoon, in Venice. Last year was a Greek theme with raucous entertainers (I zigged with black velvet AGs and a Viktor & Rolf tuxedo jacket while the staff zagged in togas), which we enjoyed with two of our dearest friends and celebrated the news that we were expecting our first child. (2007 was a busy year to say the least.)
This year looks to be the best menu yet: New Year’s Eve at the Moulin Rouge. We have so much to celebrate. What the evening will hold is anyone’s guess, but one thing is certain. I know what I won’t be wearing.