Pink of Perfection

My mom always had a knack for parties. There was my dress-as-your-favorite Barbie birthday party (peaches and cream, naturally) and, before my time, the teddy bear picnic my sister still talks about. But one of my happiest childhood memories was the cookie swap we had one Christmas. I remember the rustling plaid taffeta of little girl party dresses and our dining room table covered with cookies and three-tiered silver trays. That was when I tried my first rosette, brought by a classmate and her grandmother: light as air, whisper thin, and dusted with powdered sugar. I was in heaven.

Without the grand silver and taffeta party atmosphere, a soup swap is founded on the same idea: every attendee brings something and gets to go home with something else. In this case, I piggybacked on my book club meeting (Angle of Repose, if you’re curious), and asked everyone to bring two 4-cup containers of soup.  We then went around in a circle, each person nabbing their first soup choice. Then we reversed the order of picking for the second choice.

I love the feeling of a wholesome meal just waiting and ready to go in the freezer. In fact, my second favorite part of making soup is freezing half of it (who says you can’t have your soup and eat it, too?). But there is something especially nice when someone else has made that meal that waiting for you, nearly as comforting as when your mother tricks out your freezer herself. Because of our soup swap, I had a wonderfully spicy chicken sausage, chard, and black-eyed pea soup one day when the cupboards were bare. And still, a a vegetable soup awaits for some night when exhaustion and hunger rule with an iron fist. In other words, some night very soon.

When you’re drinking your holiday cocktails, you’re going to need a great soundtrack that puts you in a festive mood and isn’t comprised of all the Christmas songs you’re already sick of. Enter this Christmas mix that starts as a swingin’ affair, gets pretty funky and ends with––who else?––Loretta Lynn. Enjoy!

Photo: Holiday Mix card available from Etsy seller SilhouetteBlue

Continue reading “Christmas + Cocktails Mix” »

I got so caught up yesterday reading my Astrologyzone horoscope and kicking around piddly questions like, “what will the next chapter of my life look like?” that I completely forgot to check in here and say hi. Happy December, readers. Are you feeling as hopeful and fired up as I am? (A good horoscope can do that.) There’s nothing like the start of a new month. It’s like dear old Anne’s remark about a day with no mistakes it yet times 31.

I’ve been holding out on you, I’m afraid, in other ways. See, I made this truly delicious pasta dish several weeks ago based on your suggestions of easy-but-elegant meals. But then I wanted to tell you about things to make for Thanksgiving. And then after Thanksgiving, if you felt anything like I did, the last thing you wanted to read about was a big old dish of cheesy, creamy pasta. (And now is when I should probably confess that I’ve been treating my kitchen like my own ashram mess hall and eating barley, kale, and lentils for lunch everyday. Sexy, right?)

But I’ve had enough Ayurvedic sustenance and perhaps you, too, have recovered from stuffing and mashed potatoes and one (or three) too many glasses of champagne and are ready to hear about some cheesy, creamy pasta. Maybe?

Those of you who recommended this recipe were absolutely right: it’s not everyday fare, of course, but for a dinner party, when you want to be relaxed and happy when your guests arrive and not flipping pork chops or sticking toothpicks in something, it’s perfection. And for a cold winter night, the coziness effect is multiplied. I was prepared for this pasta to be lean-back-and-unbutton-your-pants-rich, so I counted on a bright and bracing fennel salad to wake people back up again. In the end, the results were somewhere in the middle: the pasta wasn’t as coma-inducing as I expected, nor the salad as puckery. I feel, perhaps, that there is a lesson in here somewhere about moderation, but I don’t think I’m ready for it yet. Especially because we had flourless chocolate cake for dessert.

Continue reading “A Simple, Fuss-Free Menu for a Winter Dinner Party” »

On Saturday night, I had a chicken in the oven, my sister on the couch, and a bottle of prosecco in the fridge. I was telling myself (and anyone who would listen) that it was my Jesus Take the Wheel dinner party. Sometimes when life doesn’t feel like it’s going your way, the best thing to do is give up the illusion that you are at all in control, cast your fate to the winds, and sit down at the dinner table with your family. And eat cake. You must eat cake.

My sister, husband, and brother-in-law carried their chairs into the kitchen to keep me company while I chopped. Squeezed into the tiny space between the garbage can and the fridge, they were nibble garlicky olives and duck pâté with pistachios (it’s nice to have a sister who can be relied upon for a touch of luxury). And then we moved to the table, switched the Pandora stations to the Magnetic Fields, and toasted to something likely worthwhile and sweet and tender. I wish I could remember.

Roast chicken is the ultimate comfort food in my book. It makes me think of Sunday night dinners in cozy kitchens with a cat curled up on the windowsill and Nina Simone on the stereo.

Would you believe though, that the salad really stole the spotlight from the bird? We all (vegetable-phobic paramour not withstanding) flipped for the earthy, green salad of shredded Brussels sprouts and Swiss chard, sweetened ever-so-slightly with maple syrup. Who knew cruciferous vegetable could be such scene-stealers?

Continue reading “3 Cozy Fall and Thanksgiving-Friendly Recipes” »

Here’s what always trips me up in my effort to make bouillabaisse: you gotta buy, like, forty million kinds of fish (which brings your grocery bill to a billion dollars), and not to make Julia roll over in her grave, but that’s just not my bag. What if, though, we kept the basic flavors of the classic Provençal stew but subbed in cheap chicken legs? You feel me?

This stew still takes a long ass time, but it’s a hands-off kind of endeavor. As I was chopping the fennel and potatoes, tucking in the thyme, and drowning the whole thing in fruity olive oil and dry white wine, I realized my real motive: I just wanted to eat the rouille.

Bouillabaisse without rouille, they say, is like Marseille without sunshine. It’s a kicked up kind of mayonnaise that you can stir directly into your stew or spread on slices of grilled bread that you float in your bowl. And while there are many variations on this recipe out there, I find myself most drawn to the version I first saw Jacques and Julia make: roasted red pepper, bread crumbs, garlic, and cayenne.

I do wish that this stew were more a stunner in the looks department, because when it comes to flavor, it’s a real knock-out.

Continue reading “French Friday: Chicken Bouillabaisse” »

My book club last night was Mad Men-themed, with one member rocking a clingy woolen turquoise dress that would have made Joan Holloway proud. What’s for dessert when you’re feasting on steak and martinis? Why, apple betty, of course, inspired by the evilest wackadoo of all.

The question came up: what makes a betty different from a buckle or a crumble? I have now had the opportunity to consult the Epicurious food dictionary and can shed light for inquiring minds. Dating back to Colonial times, a betty (or brown betty) consists of sugared, buttered breadcrumbs mixed and layered with chopped fruit (usually apples) that has been tossed with lemon juice and flour. The lack of eggs and milk makes it an entity separate from a bread pudding, in case you’re wondering. End history lesson.

I was one martini in when it came to dessert (can’t say enough good things about Farmer’s Gin) so I cannot, unfortunately, give an in-depth account of this betty’s virtues. I can vouch for her wholesome, warm simplicity, and a sweet, homespun fragrance irresistible to men on public transportation. I can also say having learned my lesson the hard way: gin martinis––insanely delicious, but watch out.

I haven’t seen the season finale yet, so pretty please: no spoilers in the comments!

Continue reading “Apple Betty” »

All summer long, our living room was shaded by the big, green-leafed tree outside, and now, in the wake of a hail storm, it’s turned yellow and half-clothed. In the mornings, the living room is nearly bright again. It all feels so sudden, and in a way, shocking. I resist and resist and resist the changing seasons, and then it somehow surprises me that the new one’s ushered in anyway.

My resistance gives way to an embrace with beets and apples. They’re hard to resist, I find. Don’t you love the big wooden crates at the farmer’s market, filled with jonagolds, mutsus, and honeycrisps? Choosing fruit from there feels almost as authentic as real apple picking. It’s all such fun, wearing a light coat again and crunching through leaves, that I’m beginning to like these cool, overcast days. Though I’m not sure where my mind’s been this week. I showed up at the drugstore without my wallet the other day, and get sucked into tasks only to look up, hours later, to remember the rest of my to do list. I’ve been a bit of a half-wit.

The one area in which I have been a total and bona fide genius this week, though, has been in the kitchen, which is a quite a way to be welcomed back to cooking. Sebastian declared this, somewhat surprisingly to me, one of the best things I’ve ever made. Which is particularly nice to hear when a recipe is easy-peasy, don’t you think? You grate some cheese, slice some apples and some beets, and plop them on pre-made puff pastry. Bake until the tart is golden around the edges, and serve with a nicely tart green salad to cut through all that richness.

I hope you all have a lovely fall weekend! Bring on the pumpkins!

Continue reading “French Friday: Beet, Apple, and Gruyère Tart” »

I almost said, “you’ll ever need,” but I hate to be presumptuous. I just know that when hosting my first brunch party, I wanted something that could 1) be assembled the night before, 2) wasn’t a greasy sausage affair, 3) felt a little elegant rather than down-homey, and 4) was vegetarian. Was this asking too much?

Short answer: no. Furthermore, this dish has made me see the light of casseroles made with baguettes. Not only is this a brilliant way to use up yesterday’s bread baton, but the crusty sourdough rounds keep a breakfast casserole from feeling too heavily eggy. Plus, they provide a nice crunch.

But let’s zoom out for a second. I have long loved entertaining. It is the one kind of party you can attend where you have ultimate control over the mood and don’t have to walk home in your three-inch heels. You can be the boss of everyone, design the menu, and keep your glass filled all night. But the last couple of parties I’ve given, when the door closes behind the final guest, I’m left feeling depleted. I loved everyone who just sat in my living room and yet I feel like I didn’t get to talk to any of them. In my current life as hostess, as I buzz around making sure there are enough forks and that the orange juice is filled, I’m beset with a new anxiety that never plagued me before: are people having fun?

What’s the solution to this? Is it to have smaller gatherings of 4-8 people? Is it, as one friend suggested, that you hold a couple pals back to help you clean up and have a chatfest over the dishes? Or is this a sign that I’m just getting old? Is it just that I would rather meet one friend at a time for coffee and a walk through the park or a couple friends for oysters and pink champagne?

I’m eager to know your feelings about hostessing, complicated or otherwise. What do you like about it? Not like? And how do you increase your own pleasure as the hostess? Spill, and no judgments.

Continue reading “The Only Breakfast Casserole Recipe I’ll Ever Need and the Conflicted Feelings of a Hostess” »