Solomun is a forty-six-year-old German-Bosnian-Croat from Hamburg who looks like a Visigoth chief or a retired linebacker: six feet three and meaty, with a graying beard and long dark hair that he often wears pulled back. I was full, but he insisted. “The fish is so delicious-and it’s a long night,” he reminded me.Īt the center of the table was another d.j., Mladen Solomun-the reason for this long night and many others. He was dressed like one of the Royal Tenenbaums, in a neck scarf and a white camp-collar shirt tucked into chinos. with courtly manners, asked me if I wanted a little more fish. Gerd Janson, a forty-five-year-old German d.j. At a long table in the dimly lit garden of Can Domingo, a restaurant in the southern hills, two dozen people picked over the remains of a generous dinner: ravioli, veal Milanese, caponata. Midsummer in Ibiza, ten minutes to midnight.
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