on dinner parties, ond oven explosions, and other matters

This is what my oven looked like, about an hour before people were supposed to show up the other night for the dinner party. Half of the meal had yet to go into the oven.

Yes, that is glass. Very hot glass.

Okay, so here is a word of advice to you. You decide to bake some crazy Italian mountain bread. Maybe you're not much of a bread baker, but you are intrigued by the concept of a bread that takes days to make, and you'd like to see what a sponge entails, and so you go for it.
You get that yeast bubbling, and the sponge becomes your new pet, if only for a few days.

It all seems to be going so well. You are going to make not one, but two of these majestic loaves, and it seems that the world is on your side. When it's time for the bread to rise, it does so in a way that has never occurred in your kitchen. You pamper it underneath a towel, and you watch it grow.

and grow.


You put the first loaf in the oven; you fill the pyrex on the bottom rack with water to caress the loaf with steam. It turns golden brown, and as you calmly pull the elements of your dinner for fourteen into perfect alignment, the bread bakes. It looks beautiful.
You will be done a whole half an hour before anyone arrives. You will even have time to change your clothes. The table has been set for hours.

You pull out the first loaf, and seamlessly slide the second onto the hot baking stone.
Oh, the pyrex on the bottom rack is empty- maybe you should put a little more water in there for the second loaf.
Okay, you ready for that advice now?
BOIL THE WATER FIRST!
Why? Well of course I already knew this. I have in fact shattered a pyrex before. It's just that I was getting ready for the party and I was... distracted.
But you know what happens when you put cold water into a very very hot glass pan?

Yes, I'm sure you do.

BOOM! CRASH!

I don't even know how to express the sound. I had my head in the oven to pour the water in, and the thing exploded. There was glass all over the kitchen.
It was 6:30.
We were having lasagne, and we hadn't even put it together yet.

But this is the thing. The pan exploded in my face, and there wasn't a piece of glass on me. Especially not in my eye, which is essentially what should have happened giving the positioning of the whole thing. I have no idea why I ended up okay in that moment, but man oh man am I thankful.
The only casualty of the whole affair, besides the pyrex of course, was that second loaf of bread. I admit to you that I thought about trying to pick the glass out of it, but then I realized that perhaps that wasn't the best of ideas. Oh how that loaf glittered in the light.

Joey spent the next 45 minutes picking hot glass out of the oven. We assembled two lasagnes (including rolling out the noodles) in about 10 minutes. I even got a minute to change my clothes, which Joey and I both did while singing the girls to sleep.
In the end there was one loaf of bread, which we at with this lasagne. The whole meal came out of the endlessly lovely cookbook, The Splendid Table by Lynne Rosetto Kasper. I have had this cookbook for ages, and have dreamed about making an entire meal from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. I am not Italian at all, and if I were, I'm sure that I never would have exploded a glass pan in my oven.

This was how it went, culinary-wise.
We made cocktails by soaking a sugar cube in blood orange bitters and pouring Prosecco over the cube.
Then there were cured meats, and a cheese called squacquerone that I made from yogurt, buttermilk, sour cream, cream cheese and lemon. There were cauliflower and pearl onions pickled in balsamic vinegar. There was a heap of salad on a cutting board, a salad of bitter greens with a warm balsamic dressing. I'm going to give you the recipe for that one this week. Then there were the aforementioned lasagnes, and the solitary and triumphant loaf of Mountain Bread. And there was a lot of wine, and then there were cinnamon and clove custards and sweet cornmeal biscuits. And more wine.
It was a meal that did not require me to be in the kitchen at all during the dinner party, and that was a very good thing. After all, the table is a much better place to be.

This brings me to something that it is time to get into. I mean, let's get into it, really.
I can't even tell you how many people have told me how they would love to have a dinner party, but they are truly terrified. There are just so many questions.
For instance:
How can you afford to feed all of those people?
How do you choose a menu that you can actually accomplish and get out to the table?
How do the logistics work? Do you plate everyone's dinner, or do you put the food out on the table? Or do you make it a buffet?
Where do you get enough dishes?

And that's just the beginning.
I am absolutely totally not a dinner party expert. But I do seem to be learning a few things in this process. And because I'm hoping that I'm not the only one delving into the dinner party world, I am very happy to share. I would also be thrilled to hear the tricks that are working for you in your soirees as well.
Tomorrow, I'm going to organize these thoughts a bit, so before I do, if you have any specific questions on dinner party methods and logistics, leave them here and I'll see what I can do.

See you then.

Menu For Hope VI

It's time for the Menu For Hope Campaign, and luckily I get to help out this year. Pim of Chez Pim started this fundraiser five years ago after the tsunami in Southeast Asia, and in the years since, she and other food bloggers around the world have raised nearly a quarter of a million dollars. This year will be the fourth year working with the UN Food Program.
Here's how it works- it's pretty great...
Food Bloggers pair up with restaurants, food producers, and people who make or sell other food related goodies. Each blogger offers a bid item which is added to the master list. You peruse the list, find the things that you cannot live without, and for 10 dollars, you can bid on one specific item. All of the bidders will be entered in a drawing for that specific prize. You can, of course, buy as many tickets as you like, for as many prizes as you like. It's all going to a good place. So hop over to Chez Pim and prepare yourself for deep enticement. There are some fabulous things over there. She'll also tell you more about the Menu For Hope, how it works, and the history behind it.

But of course you're dying to know what I'm offering, aren't you?
Well, you know how I feel about Barrington Coffee Roasting Company. I certainly have been guilty of going on and on about how great they are over there, how inspiring their business practices are, and most of all, how damn fine their coffee is. I am truly lucky to have them in my neck of the woods.
They have so generously offered to send the lucky winner of this item an Organic/Fair trade sampler. That's three 12 oz. bags of coffee, people. They're going to send you the Sumatra Aceh, Berkshire Blend, and French Roast Mexican Chiapas. This auction is only for people within the US, due to customs rules about coffee.

I know, you're raring to go, right? So here's what you do:


1. Choose a bid item or bid items of your choice from our Menu for Hope main bid item list.
2. Go to the donation site at Firstgiving and make a donation.
3. Please specify which bid item you'd like in the 'Personal Message' section in the donation form when confirming your donation. You must write-in how many tickets per bid item, and please use the bid item code.
Each $10 you donate will give you one raffle ticket toward a bid item of your choice. For example, a donation of $50 can be 2 tickets for EU01 and 3 tickets for EU02 - 2xEU01, 3xEU02.
4. If your company matches your charity donation, please check the box and fill in the information so we could claim the corporate match.
5. Please check the box to allow us to see your email address so that we can contact you in case you win. Your email address will not be shared with anyone.

Bidding is open from December 14-December 25.

Check back on Chez Pim on Monday, January 18 for the results of the raffle.

the table in the morning

This morning, the girls woke me up really, really early.

In fact, it was only a few hours after I had gone to bed. I figured that since they dragged me out of bed, I had better take a few pictures of what was left of the dinner party.

Usually, Joey and I make it a habit to stay up for hours after everyone has gone home, doing the dishes and going over the party for ourselves. We don't have a dishwasher, and this process takes hours.
But last night, we went straight to bed. It was late, I mean, really late, and before he could finish his sentence, "Let's just wait till..." I was stumbling down the hallway. The girls were totally entertained to find me in my pajamas this morning that were fully inside out.

But this morning, through my, well let's just call it a haze, the morning-after table made me feel happy. I could almost hear the sound of everyone still talking, and it felt great to have them there.

Tomorrow I'll tell you what I made, and about the crazy dramatic moment in my dinner preparation where I was almost blinded (I swear I don't make these things up!). But tonight I'd just really like to thank the people who came last night, and the people who have come to the previous dinner parties. It's not easy to walk into a room and sit at a table with people you don't know, and I have deep gratitude that you all are willing to take a risk and go with it, even if the looming possibility of an evening of stagnant conversation and horrible food seemed too much to bear. I hope that you were glad you came, and that I sat you next to someone you liked, and that you're belly was full and happy when you left. I am so happy to know you.

On to the next party? I'm going to change things a bit. In the spirit of the essay that got me started on this whole thing, I'm going to start asking you to invite (or reinviting) yourselves. If you live around here, or you might be passing through, let me know and I'll try to get something together if it's not already happening. You can contact me up there in the Nav bar, or just leave a comment. Just tell me you want in, and the seat is yours.

And as usual, I'd love it if you want to share any salon dinner parties that you are hosting. Tell us about them in the comments, or send me pictures and I'll show them off.

It's a slow revolution, but a revolution nonetheless. If you haven't tried it, go for it. Let's get everyone to come sit down and eat.

sweet cornmeal biscuits

On my nineteenth birthday, my boyfriend broke up with me, it snowed two feet, and then it iced another six inches. As I hacked at the igloo that covered my car in the parking lot, my tears and sweat soaked through through my coat. A newspaper reporter approached me.

"We're documenting the storm. Mind if I take your picture?"

"It's my fucking birthday. Help me out or go away."

He did not help me out.

On my twenty-third birthday, it snowed two feet again. My French class was having the last class of the semester at a French Bakery, and I was late. I ran out of my house, locking my car keys securely inside. I spent the next 30 minutes breaking into my surprisingly secure and frozen shut house, and I got to the French Bakery as the class was leaving in a cheerful chattering mass.

I stayed behind and took a seat at a table for one.

"It's my fucking birthday," I told the waitress. "Bring me some cake, and stick a candle in it."

Ah birthdays.

No swearing today, and a lovely day on the whole. Sadie brought me coffee and toast in bed as promised, which somehow helped me deal with her hour long tantrum about the fact that I had not made myself a birthday cake.

Although there was no snow this year, there was a whole lot of cold wind, and so I decided to turn on my oven. And as part of my meal preparation for tomorrow (spoiler alert!), I made Gialetti de Romagna, sweet cornmeal biscuits.

I'm sure my guests won't mind that I ate so many of them today. It was my birthday after all, and I seem to have forgotten to make myself a birthday cake.

Here ends birthday week. I promise not even to say the word again until next year.


I wasn't sure what these would emerge to be. They just sounded like a good idea. And when I say biscuit, you know I mean cookie, but not quite, because I'd say these are a cross between a Devonshire scone and a sugar cookie and, well, something involving cornmeal.

They are really very very lovely. And ideal with tea. And cold wind that is outside.

The original recipe calls for pine nuts and raisins. I adore pine nuts, but they have recently gone up in price so much that I think people might start perching them on engagement rings. I used chopped pecans instead, and that seemed just perfect to me. I am okay with raisins, but I am much better with currants, so that is what I used. These came out so well that I will go so far as give you my version of the recipe, but if pine nuts and raisins are your cup of tea, then by all means go ahead and switch it back.


Gialetti di Romagna
(sweet cornmeal biscuits)
adapted from Lynne Rosetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

makes about 50 cookies

1 cup (4 ounces) cornstarch
1 cup (5 ounces) coarse yellow cornmeal
2 cups (8 ounces) all-purpose flour
generous pinch of salt
1 cup (8 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (7 ounces) sugar
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon water
1 1/2 tablespoons grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup (2 1/2 ounces) currants, soaked in hot water for 15 minutes and drained
1/2 cup (2 ounces) coarsely chopped pecans

Blend the cornstarch, cornmeal, flour and salt in a bowl until well mixed. Set aside. Combine the butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer. Beat at medium speed with the paddle attachment for about 6 minutes, or until pale and very fluffy. You can also use a hand held mixer for this if that is your tool of choice. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, making sure the mixture is fluffy after each addition. Then beat in the water, lemon zest and vanilla. Keeping the speed at medium, beat in about 1 1/2 cups of the dry ingredients until just blended. Then blend in another cup until barely mixed. Add the rest of the dry ingredients, along with the currants and pecans. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or greased parchment paper. The cookies will bake in three batches. Drop the chilled cookie dough by teaspoonfuls onto the baking sheet, spacing them 1 to 1 1/2 inches apart. Make a crosshatch pattern on the top of each cookie by dipping a fork in water, then pressing the back of the fork gently into the cookie dough. Wet the fork again, and press it into the dough again at right angles to the first impression. Chill the unused dough. Bake for 20 minutes in the center of the oven, or until they are pale blond with golden edges. Remove the cookie sheet from the oven, and use a metal spatula to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack. Drop another batch of cookies onto the baking sheet and repeat.
The cookies will store well in an airtight container for up to a week.

cooking up a storm

Yup, I'm already cooking for my party on Saturday. Can you guess what country has inspired me?

Sadie has promised to bring me toast and coffee in the morning. She is getting up extra early. I think birthdays with kids are the best, because they get so happy celebrating everything.

It's funny- looking back over what I've written here the last week, I'm wondering if you all might think that I'm a little looney over the birthday thing. I mean, I've been talking about it all week. What am I, seven?
I'm not always like this.

The last couple of years have been a little bit, well, tumultuous. I've talked about some of that here, but the nutshell version is that I was a feeling like I was undirected, and like I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to be. I have felt restless, almost at the cellular level.

It seems that this happens to a lot of people between the ages of 28 and 30 or so. I'm not exactly sure why, but I have a few ideas on the subject. I won't go into them here- if you're interested you can come over for a cup of tea.

But whoa, nelly, you get used to one feeling and then things change, and all of a sudden, I feel calmer. I seem to have figured out where I'm supposed to be. Who knows where I'll be on the eve of my 32nd birthday, but who cares, I'm just thankful for now.

So you'll have to forgive me if I'm spilling over with optimism this week. Birthdays have always been a time that I pause and take stock. Often, that has not been such a good experience. But this year, I'm feeling pretty good.

Thanks for being here with me. More food tomorrow.

buttered cabbage

Seven years ago today, Joey and I got married at Town Hall. We were in the throws of wedding planning for our big ceremony that would happen two weeks later, a snowy lasagne filled house party event, but we had chosen a friend of ours to officiate, and so needed to do the legal deed earlier. It was 10 in the morning, and five degrees out. We were 23, and I was six months pregnant. We got married and went out to lunch. Then we had an ultrasound and we met Sadie.
I had a friend in Santa Fe back then who was having some marital problems. She and her husband had married young and had two children.
"The seven year itch is no joke," she told me. "This last year has been hell. If you make it through the seventh year, you can make it through anything."
I thought of seven years and it stretched out in the distance. It was incomprehensible. I knew very few people who had managed to stay married for seven years.

Seven years.

Looking forward to seven more. And maybe even seven more after that.

And what does this all have to do with buttered cabbage? Well I could say that marriage is like a cabbage, unveiling more beauty and nutrition with every leaf, opening like a flower of love, good fermented, roasted, or stuffed with goodness....


but really, it's what we had for dinner. And it's really the best way to eat cabbage that I know of. I don't mean best as in you can tolerate it, I mean best as in phenomenal no matter how you feel about cabbage. Joey made me a snow yurt in the front yard while I made an actual pork roast for dinner, and buttered cabbage. And it's that kind of exchange that has helped to get us this far, and hopefully we'll be able to keep making things for each other for a long time.

Also, I have a kitchen mix for you tonight. I know it's been a little while, but I hope you'll feel it's been worth the wait. You can download it here, and play it while you make dinner, and let me know what you think. Song listing is here, where you can also catch up on the rest of the kitchen tunes.

Buttered Cabbage
from Alice Waters, The Art of Simple Food

One head of red or green cabbage
2-3 Tablespoons butter
salt

Remove any damaged outer leaves from the cabbage. Cut the head in half and remove the core. Cut the halves into quarters and slice thin. Put the cabbage into a large pan with about 1 1/2 inches of water and the butter. Cover, bring to a boil- then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook for about 15 minutes, or until the cabbage is tender. Drain, add salt to taste, and serve hot.

today

One of these days, when I'm complaining (me? I never complain!) about a hard day, will you remind me about today?

Today I did laundry. I wrote, I cooked, I did some dinner party planning.
Yes, that was good, but I haven't even gotten started yet.

Eilen is up for a visit. We went out for hot chocolate, at a place that puts homemade marshmallows on top of perfect perfect hot chocolate. They're not very nice there, and they were playing unbearable music, so we sat in the cold and kept warm with chocolate and sugar and milk.

I got a package today, from the most wonderful friend. She teaches people how to fly in California. This is what she sent me. I think I might only cook French food until I have cooked my way through the entire book. It was my first birthday present.

Then Eilen sent Joey and I off to dinner for my birthday. Tomorrow is also our anniversary, and we were feeling very celebratory. Seven years. No fooling. We had the most caramel-y and salty in a wonderful way dinner. We had sweetbreads and brussels sprouts, and beef stew with horseradish spaetzle The chef who started the restaurant cooked alone in the open kitchen, and we listened to his ipod and I had too much wine.

And that's it. That was today. Tonight it is supposed to snow. A lot. Maybe tomorrow we'll break out the sled. Maybe.