Christine Quinn dipped a mother-of-pearl spoon into the bowl that rested in her ice bath. Spreading caviar on a blini, she lifted the bite to her rose-gold lips.
“It tastes rich,” she said. “It gives me rich vibes. It’s the classiest breakfast I’ve ever had in my life.
It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, the day after Ms Quinn, 33, a star of the Netflix docusoap ‘Selling Sunset’ and a woman the Sunday Times of London described as ‘TV’s biggest villain “, had just arrived from Paris. . She was promoting her first book, ‘How to Be a Boss B*tch’, which combines memoir and self-help, advising women how to pick themselves up by their high-heeled boots, just like Ms Quinn did.
The tour would soon take her to Dallas, Los Angeles, New York and back to Los Angeles.
“It’s been a whirlwind,” she said, which probably explained why she had planned breakfast for 3 p.m. “I don’t know what city I’m in, what state, what time zone. No idea.”
While in New York, she planned to appear on “Good Morning America”, the “Tamron Hall Show” and the most exciting, “Watch What Happens Live”. Had she already decided what to wear? She hadn’t.
“But I will give homosexuals everything they deserve,” she said, putting down a handbag printed with an image of the Mona Lisa. “It’s what I live and breathe for.”
That afternoon, she had arrived at Caviar Russe, a Michelin-starred downtown restaurant, in a smart take on corporate attire — stilettos, Balenciaga sunglasses, a pinstripe suit and a white collared shirt that showed off a pale belly band. Her fingernails, long and neon yellow, shone like sharp post-its.
She first tasted caviar at age 21, while having dinner with a boyfriend. “Of course call him a sugar daddy,” she said. “He was. But we had amazing chemistry. She had her first filet mignon that night, her first glass of real champagne. It just opened my eyes to everyone, that I had never seen before that I didn’t even know existed,” she said.
She’s tasted a lot of caviar since. Sitting upstairs at the Caviar Russe, on a gray banquette with a Murano chandelier tinkling above her, Ms. Quinn sipped a glass of Red Bull – a bulwark against jet lag – and asked her waiter for advice. , John Gergeous. He suggested the Prestige tasting, a $695, 75-gram selection of platinum osetra, gold osetra, and classic osetra with traditional accompaniments.
“A bit of champagne? He asked.
She consented, asking Krug. But Mr. Gergeous didn’t have it by the glass, so they compromised on the Dom Pérignon vintage ($75 a glass).
“I don’t drink, I just sip,” she says.
Opening the champagne, Mr Gergeous dropped the cork – Ms Quinn has that effect on men – then poured the drink into a chilled glass.
Mrs. Quinn lifted her spoon and dipped in, starting with the platinum. “Mmmmm,” she said. “This one is very light, buttery, airy, creamy, very subtle.”
She then tried gold, adding it to a blini. “This one has saltier notes,” she said. “It’s still a bit lighter, but it’s more like a touch of salt, which I like because I like salt.”
And finally she turned to the classic, which she ate on a crepe with fresh cream. “This one has flavors of the sea,” she said.
Somehow the champagne glass had been emptied. Politely, Ms. Quinn summoned the waiter. “John, there seems to be a small hole in the champagne glass,” she said. “I wish I had another one.”
Over the course of five seasons of “Selling Sunset,” a cage match reality show set among high-end Los Angeles real estate agents, Ms. Quinn has carefully cultivated an image of ruthlessness and waist-high conduct. wasp, looking up at an Art form. When she realized the producers had given her the villain role, she didn’t fight it.
“I feel like I was the only one who understood the mission,” she said. “I was the one to say, ‘Hey, it’s a show, and I’m going to put on a show for the world. “”
Still, she bristled when she learned that “Selling Sunset,” which details the exploits of Oppenheim Group real estate agents, had been nominated for an MTV award for an unscripted series. (She also got a nod for best fight.)
According to Ms. Quinn, the show is eagerly scripted. “There’s no doubt about it,” she said.
In the final episodes of the fifth series, she left the Oppenheim Group to open her own business, RealOpen, which facilitates door-to-door sales for buyers and sellers who prefer to trade in cryptocurrency. She does not know if she will return for a sixth season, especially if she continues to promote the Oppenheim group.
“Hulu, call me,” she joked.
Mrs. Quinn asked for the bill. Within an hour, she had eaten at least half of the 75 grams and asked to take the rest back to her hotel. She never wastes food, she says. When Mr. Gergeous brought the bill, which was $1,000, he also brought a cooler full of blinis, creme fraiche and an additional 125 grams of caviar, a gift from the owners.
“They’re big fans,” he said.
“Stop it! So lovely!” Ms. Quinn said, graciously accepting it and posing for a few photos on social media.
Mr. Gergeous reminded him that the caviar was good for maybe two weeks, maybe three.
Mrs. Quinn, with her taste for luxury, told him not to worry. “It will be gone tonight,” she said.