Sunday evening, I went to the opera and thought how much it's changed.
Not the opera itself--La Boheme has always been La Boheme, and aside from those annoying surtitles or whatever you call them (I'm philistine enough to care more how it sounds than what the words are), Opera Theatre Saint Louis is as amazing as ever. What's changed is subtler: Under that tent, everybody seemed to be having real fun, chatting easily, joking, nobody pretending any operatic knowledge they'd just copped from the libretto that afternoon. The dog who steals Act I was on his hind legs begging, and even the young people on dates seemed at ease. I remember, at 22, devising bizarre mechanisms to keep my spaghetti straps in place and not unearth clods of grass with my heels. Tonight I had on metallic flats and an easy wrap dress, clothes that were entirely comfortable and did not once enter my mind.
So maybe it's just me that's changed? Somehow I don't think so. The opera and the symphony and all those other places feel different now, less like a root canal and more like serious play. Maybe it's because they're so eager to attract young audiences--or because their current audiences have stopped posturing. This is, after all, St. Louis, and the economy's humbled us all, and life's short.
We had a lovely supper--salmon and creme fraiche and wine and wonderful cheeses and bread and orange cardamom cookies. But our host cheerfully told us the creme fraiche was "a cheap trick--you just mix sour cream and heavy cream and leave it out overnight, then dump in the dill." As for the wine another guest brought, we happily raved about it and held out our glasses as he told us it was from Trader Joe's. Same with the third guest's cheeses--TJ. And the cookies that could have been gourmet? "Epicurious, first recipe that comes up when you enter 'cookie,'" their baker told us.
I'm old enough to remember when it was only women who fixed food for a party, and I've known more than one who wouldn't share a recipe (one woman even falsified a few details to protect her secret). I remember when going to the opera meant, if not black tie, at least something scratchy or excessively tight, and always, aching feet. I remember conversation that was more of a sparring match than a good-humored admission of naivete or enthusiasm.
People have relaxed. And opera's all the better for it.
--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer
