It’s been a few years now since Ibiza became the destination of choice for wedding couples. So much so that it has been labeled the Vegas of the Med. Not surprising given the quantity of brides that punish their parents by insisting on this bejeweled rock as their must-have location. ‘Oh daddy pleeease…’
I can see the parents now – wincing when Ibiza is first mentioned and then outright breaking down in tears when they find out just how much it is all going to cost. Now daddy, you really are gonna wet yourself – private villa with stunning views a must, car service for guests, parking attendants and security, pre-ceremony drinks with flamenco guitarist, ceremony under a bespoke wedding arch made entirely of wild flowers from Scandinavia, post-ceremony drinks with Cristal champagne fountain and flamenco dancers, canapés made of air collected from the aura around the Teta Teta Tree of Mount Etna, the 14-course wedding banquet, the wedding favours from Tiffany’s, tiered white wedding cake decorated with gold leaf, flamenco band, some light opera, synchronised swimmers, fire dancers, fire eaters, fireworks, smelly hippy jugglers, vodka luge in the shape of a .45, party parasites, police… This is payback time for all the times daddy said no.
Of course they aren’t all for daddy’s little girl. Indeed sometimes they are for daddy’s little boy who just happens to be dressed as woman. At the first wedding I did, I was greeted by a man built like a rugby player wearing a little black number, black lace gloves, fishnet stockings and stilettos. He was escorted down the aisle by a very retiring man who reminded me of the one armed dishwasher from Robin’s Nest. The bride, petite in pink and hirsute of chest, looked dishy. They did look weird but boy oh boy did they know how to have a good time.
And then there are the weddings where it appears that daddy himself is marrying his little girl. He isn’t of course, because that is illegal, but one could be forgiven for making the mistake given the age difference.
And what of the food? Well, most couples have the good sense to leave it to yours truly given that I am a chef, know what is good and know what works. Occasionally one of the couple will insist on a replica of a wedding they went to in Maine, Milan or Mars. I do my best to make them see the error of their ways but some people can be awful stubborn. ‘No, no, we simply must have fourteen courses. Chelsea did at her wedding.’ No matter that most the guests will be asleep by the end of course seven and those remaining will be chomping at the bit so rabidly that they will be frothing at the mouth.
Editor’s note: Author Mark Watkins is one of Ibiza’s premier private chefs and his company La Grande Bouffe Catering is on the speed dial of Ibiza’s best wedding planners. For more information on how to book his services, click here or email on firstname.lastname@example.org.