The doorbell rings at 7:35. Seemingly unafraid of appearing unfashionable, the first guests are right on time. Perhaps because they know that Judith Tatar is not the kind of entertaining diva to be messed with. Or perhaps it is simply because Judith, who is at the moment being literally lifted off her feet in a bear hug from Amar Bhalla, throws the kind of parties where you don't want to miss the cocktail part.
"How are you, fabulous girl?" The ponytailed Amar, in a swish suede coat over jeans, sweeps past Judith's tiny front hall with an animated Georgia Scherman, bringing the crisp scent of fall leaves straight into the dining room.
"Judy, this table is absolutely stellar!" Georgia says with a dramatic sweep of one scarf-clad arm. Tony Volpe, one of Judith's regular A-team of wait guys, whisks the pair's coats upstairs and asks them what they might like to drink. (Judith has been known to reschedule parties around the availability of Tony and his teammate Barton Cornego. "They know just the way I like everything done, but they are almost impossible to get," she said, "partly because they are better-looking than most of my guests.")
Returning with two glasses of Spy Valley Sauvignon Blanc, Tony is quickly off to fetch more for new arrivals Alexandra Bennett, glowing in vintage Edwardian lace, and Stephen Dembroski, who are admiring Judith's new collection of luminous Scotch tape vases by Robert Fones.
"Can you believe I tried to get the people at 3M interested in his work and the only thing I hear back from them is a cease-and-desist letter about unauthorized use of Scotch tape?" Judith says with a laugh.
Dee Dee Taylor Hannah and her husband, Rob Hannah, are here, and they'll have the wine too.
There are cocktails on offer, of course, but none of those fruity "signature" drinks: In Judith's opinion, the classics are just fine on a school night, thank you very much.
But that is precisely Judith's gift as a hostess; she knows that mixing up pink drinks is less important than mixing together the right people -- and the animated group that is filling her minimal downtown Victorian front room represents social mixology at its best.
Like all art forms, its apparent ease of execution disguises a prodigious amount of hard work. Judith, who leaves little to chance, defines "energetic": a typical day starts with Pilates at 6 and might involve supervising an art installation while trying to score Streisand tickets and coming up with a clever concept for a launch invitation on the way to a French lesson -- all before dinner with clients to introduce them to someone they just have to meet.
But in the past month, even Judith's hyper-functionality has been challenged. She closed the doors of her 10-year-old Toronto gallery, opened new offices in the hipster central King West zone, launched an exhibition space at the invitation-only Spoke Club with a show by Vancouver painter George Vergette -- oh, and planned tonight's intimate birthday dinner for her dear friend, designer Glenn Pushelberg, and 12 other fabulous friends, including The Globe and Mail.
Why did The Globe crash Judith's party? Because Judith is the 21st-century version of the celebrated hostesses of times past, a latter-day Madame de Pompadour or Elsa Maxwell -- the kind of social maven Malcolm Gladwell would call a "connector." A natural hostess who relishes the role, Judith has a lot to teach those foolish enough to proclaim the dinner party dead.
