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Laila Gohar’s Exquisite Taste | The New Yorker

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How uncanny instincts turned a style maverick into the Björk of food.

Save this story Save this story On a hot June afternoon in Milan, Laila Gohar emerged from a taxi at the Ospedale Militare di Baggio carrying many bags. The bags—from Gucci, from the venerable pasticceria Marchesi 1824, from the supermarket chain Penny—held food, mostly: floral pastilles, pistachio drops, sugared squares of fruit jelly, pastries shaped like maraschino-tipped breasts. Only a small number of these confections would be eaten. Most would be embalmed in shellac and arrayed in precise and inscrutable tableaux, although it was too soon to say exactly how. Gohar was in the midst of cr

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