I have mussels, another Jackie favourite, for lunch.ĭay 6 After periods of heavy eating, Jackie would go on a fruit fast. It is made of brownstone and looks dark and imposing. We go to Newport, Rhode Island, the site of Jackie’s wedding to JFK, and drive by the church they married in. My mother promptly throws out the sauce, which has taken hours to strain.ĭay 5 Today is my sister’s birthday. To honour Jackie, I choose a fruit dessert that Sgubin says Jackie preferred over other types of dessert, Peaches Cardinal, which is basically steamed peaches and raspberry sauce. I am crazy, however, and my tiny jar of caviar is empty.ĭay 4 Cooking For Madam has a whole chapter on Thanksgiving. I give the caviar its own seat on the bus.ĭay 3 I weigh myself in my childhood bathroom. I eat a potato at work, then pack up my caviar and potato accessories and board a bus to Rhode Island, where I am spending Thanksgiving. This is to be expected, but still I am surprised, given how well the “one potato” thing went yesterday. But I may have just hated it.ĭay 2 I wake up really hungry. I’m not hungry for hours after, though I do leave halfway through a showing of Anna Karenina, possibly because I’m too hungry to concentrate. At 2pm, rather hungry, I microwave it to within an inch of its life, cut it open and slather it with sour cream and caviar. Limehouse Blues sounds like music that would play if you had a seizure in an amusement park. In her high-school yearbook, her favourite song is Limehouse Blues and her favourite saying “Play the rhumba next”. I decide I must sacrifice my art in the face of practical reality.ĭay 1 I decide to live as Jackie did and wear white jeans and a turtleneck, even though it is winter. You have to eat it with a mother-of-pearl spoon. According to Wikipedia, it retails for up to $10,000 a kilogramme. Jackie’s favourite type of caviar, beluga, comes from a sturgeon found in the seas of the former Soviet Union.

Since that diet is exorbitantly expensive and vaguely insane, I decide to bolster my Jackie Kennedy diet with recipes from her housekeeper Marta Sgubin’s cookbook, Cooking For Madam. One diet consisted, according to legend, of nothing but a single baked potato, stuffed with beluga caviar and sour cream, eaten once a day. Jackie Kennedy famously watched her weight “with the rigour of a diamond merchant counting his carats”, according to one poetic staff member. Jackie has always been my favourite Kennedy, for her ability to speak French and the time when she reportedly declared: “Why worry if you’re not as good at tennis as Eunice or Ethel, when men are attracted by the feminine way you play tennis?” It’s a sentiment with which I can wholeheartedly agree. Would I survive? Could I achieve my ideal body and ideal personality (a combo of Liz Taylor and Liz Taylor)? And could I answer what always seemed to me either a genius rhetorical question, or a question that made absolutely no sense: are you what you eat? Jackie Kennedy I also had to ask myself a number of questions. I would buy any cookbook they wrote, and employ exercise regimens, clothing choices or dinner parties when appropriate. Here are the rules I set for myself: I would try to eat the way celebrities eat. In our anti-gluten, GM-phobic culture, they must espouse a “healthy” lifestyle, even if they actually keep in shape with excellent genes and cigarettes. Many modern celebrities monetise their eating habits, with cookbooks and workout guides.

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