Pink of Perfection

Granted, it flies in the face of my chatter yesterday about autumnal melancholia, but the thing is, it’s very hot here right now. Every morning I go into the living room and aim a fan straight at myself. Ice coffee is made. Brows sweat. And when a friend is coming over for lunch, the last thing I want to do is heat up the apartment. It’s time for a cold, assembled lunch.

I pretty much stole this menu from Lisa when she had me over on one of the most sickeningly steamy nights of the summer. Nothing could have seemed more appealing than the platter of deviled eggs and pile of cold radishes that waited for me on the coffee table. Except, perhaps, a beer float.

Anyway, it was all so perfect that I replicated the meal for a friend with a few riffs of my own: guacamole, deviled eggs, heirloom tomatoes drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with chives, a plate of nectarines. It’s the perfect picking food when you’re hungry but it’s so dang hot that mostly you want to sit across from your pretty friend on the floor, the fan whirring directly at both of you, plotting big plans from the comfort of the living room.

To say that the little mound of green you see here on top of a toasted slice of bread is a firecracker explosion of flavor in your mouth would not be overstating it. This is a fresh and zingy bite that would the perfect accompaniment to happy hour at home of Lillet cocktails or a glass or rosé; with a hard-boiled egg or a fresh cup of gazpacho, it just might be the perfect summer dinner.

A few words: whatever you do, don’t skip the mint! I nearly did, but having some leftover from my Thai-ish salad the other night, I can tell you that the mint is the stealth winner of this entire affair. In fact, wait until your own summer mint is thick and thigh-high, if you must. The mint is what makes this just dance on your tongue as lightly as a woman on the prairie in long cotton dress, swirling across a raised wooden platform to the summer evening sounds of a banjo, her hand held tight by a man who will try to kiss her later, and for the first time, on the walk home. You know what I mean.

Also: fava beans are, in my book, second only to artichokes as the most high-maintenance vegetable on earth. And between you and me, I’m not sure the pay-off is as great. The reason why they’re so much dang trouble is that you have to peel them twice. First, you slice open the pod. Then, each bean needs to be individually peeled from its thick, waxy skin. A trick to this: put the unpeeled beans into the microwave for a few hot moments and they will essentially steam off their jackets. Despite all this trouble, they are, nevertheless, delicious; but sub them for something else if you’re feeling lazy. Dare I even suggest thawed frozen peas? But I’ll say it again: just don’t skip the mint!

Continue reading “Mint, Fava Bean, and Parmesan Bruschetta” »

When we were still in the darkest days of February, Sebastian and I threw a Scandinavian-themed dinner party. Ever since I read this this, I’ve been wishing I were born Danish. Perhaps this would mean I were tall, effortlessly cool, and blond, but it would certainly mean my home was a white canvas of zero clutter punctuated by bright bursts of color. Without a plane ticket to take me to Copenhagen or a time machine to travel back and screw with the family tree, the only way I know how to access the culture of another place is to eat their food. And what more visceral method is there, really?

Our dinner party didn’t give grant me blondness, but it was a chance to drink Aquavit with some of our dearest friends, eat smoked salmon, and revel in one of my favorite dinner party dishes of roast pork with apples and prunes in a mustard cream sauce. My clutter problems didn’t magically evaporate, but we did have a good laugh at the pictures of Max von Sydow demonstrating a skoal in my fantastically musty-smelling copy of The Cooking of Scandinavia procured in a church basement (along with the rest of the complete Time Life cooking series — the find of a lifetime). What more can one really ask from a dinner with friends?

Continue reading “Pork Loin with Apples, Prunes, and Mustard Cream Sauce” »

Though my means may be reduced from the days of whole sides of salmon and a digestif of chocolatey brandy, my love of entertaining has not waned. And why should it? A party can still be a be a kick-up-your-heels affair when guests are served bowls of chili, they just might not be as inspired to don a plaid strapless number, or pair their seductively low-cut red silk with pearls. Serving a dinner that seems a little special requires a bit of scheming, but it’s not impossible. A magician may pull a rabbit from a hat, but a clever hostess can extract 3 courses for 8 people out of $50. Some general tips for a thrifty affair:

• Have your guests bring the wine. When people ask what they can bring, be specific. Guests love assignments! Let them know that the party’s bar will be stocked by the guests and to bring what they want to drink. And no, this does not seem cheap. You’re serving forth a multi-course dinner, you don’t need to quench everyone’s thirst, as well. A bottle or two stowed in the fridge just in case might put worry-wart hostesses at ease (and provides the opportunity to take a nip of something before the guests arrive).
• Go easy on the appetizers. As much as I love cheese — and believe me, I mean I love cheese — people, ahem, have a tendency to overdo it when a creamy wedge of brie is plopped right in front of them as they’re tossing back drinks. You wouldn’t want your lady guests wishing they bought their green off-the-shoulder frock one size large this early in the evening. Pre-dinner nibbles should whet the appetite, not sate it. Olives and cheesy breadsticks always seem to go over well.
• Make vegetables the stars. Instead of relying on a pricey roast to steal the show, put super fresh seasonal vegetables in starring roles in beautiful salads, soups, and side dishes. A $2 head of cauliflower and precious little else can become a delicate and creamy soup that starts the night off on a high note.
• Let the sales guide you. It’s easy to plan a menu when the sky’s the limit — it takes resourcefulness to think about what’s in season and what’s on sale to come up with courses that complement and enhance one another. Think of it as a challenge!

Continue reading “Dinner Party on a Budget” »

Last week might as well be dubbed my Discovery of 1,000 Duhs. First, there was the accidental delight of greek yogurt stirred into lentils. And after 27 years of half-hearted trying, I finally understand the thrill of video games. Which just goes to show that an idea only has to be new to you to bear the great flush of being groundbreaking. And isn’t that a load off since there is, as they say, nothing new under the sun. With that in mind, I now present to you something new to me: fallen leaves as place cards at your next party.

This particular “no, duh” idea didn’t occur to me until I was walking home from the stationery shop — really wanting hot chocolate for the second time in a week but trying to resist –when my attention was diverted. I crossed paths with a perfect-looking ginko leaf, exotically formed and vibrantly yellow. What could I use these for, I wonder?

I learned the hard way that you cannot make leaves into keepsakes of any kind unless you press them between the pages of your heaviest dictionary or they will curl up hideously and become brittle. They are in the process of decomposition, after all. Still very much infatuated with the idea after my initial fail, however, I went out into the drizzly rain on the afternoon of the party, the hood of my jacket pulled up, and carefully considered leaves on the wet sidewalk. I see myself as someone who takes her time, who notices the small beauties of life. But scoping for leaves really slows you down and literally brings your focus to the ground level. The usual thoughts that pop up when you are going through the motions of familiar, routine activities don’t have room to take root. Looking for leaves, there will be no anxieties about what’s going on next week, next year, and how you’re going to scheme your life from point A to point B. I’m not saying you won’t get weird looks, but it’s a heavenly little meditation to bring you into the present moment.

I am writing you this dispatch from a study crowded with books, soft plaid blankets, a jade plant, and worn rugs with tassel fringe. No, I haven’t suddenly traded up (though I do have a lottery ticket in my wallet that I think may just be the golden ticket). I’m house-sitting.

Being in someone else’s space presents certain challenges. You may not, for example, have your usual tools for making dinner, but you may have the added value of Bravo. But what was made abundantly clear to me as soon as the lady and gent of the house drove off in their car is how much life and warmth people bring to a home. Without someone shuffling between the sink and the stove, it’s just an empty kitchen. Without someone listening to the game on the radio in the living room, it’s just another quiet space with four walls and windows. I was lonely immediately.

Continue reading “The Pleasures of a Houseguest” »

If you are an adult who cooks for herself, day in and day out, the ultimate comfort may well be when someone else takes over. It feels like such a generous act. And if you are maybe feeling a little vulnerable, a little tired, a little world-weary, a dinner cooked by someone who loves you (or maybe even someone who doesn’t) is just what the doctor ordered.

So when I climbed off a country-bound bus and dropped my weekend bag in my mom’s kitchen, she could have served me Kraft mac and cheese to great applause. But because it is August and her garden is overrun with herbs and tomatoes, she was standing at a kitchen counter piled high with herbs, tomatoes, and cucumbers and putting together this salad in a large, wide wooden bowl.

Our experience of food is so often impacted by a confluence of factors. If we are heartbroken or lovesick, the greatest delights can fall on mute taste buds. But sometimes, timing and mood come together in the right moment and flavors are experienced with a greater than usual sensation. Say, for instance, we are famished and have been living on a diet of cold cereal and tepid spaghetti. Or more often, are simply tired, feeling perhaps a little worse for wear. That’s when the moment and the dish conspire to really amaze us.

I think I had thirds when my mom served this dish to us on that hot night. The creaminess of the vinaigrette, the luscious poached chicken, the bright quintessential summer flavors of tomatoes and fresh herbs: It was exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment.

Weeks later, I think it was the exactly the right thing yet again when I served it on an even hotter night to a gathering of friends in our little apartment. Our air-conditioner was chugging along, and our guests were airing themselves out to the tune of the strawberry-black pepper cocktails and an equally potent concoction of pear juice, champagne, ginger and bourbon they brought in tow (I love overachiever dinner guests!). We had little nibbles of baguette with goat cheese and peach, then little sips of a cold corn soup. And then we moved to the dining room table set directly in front of the air-conditioner for plates of chicken salad, steamed potatoes and salad. I can’t speak for my dinner companions as to the confluence of factors that affected their esteem for the dish, but to me, it was exactly the right thing at the right moment.

Continue reading “Light and Elegant Provençal Chicken Salad” »

My mom has always copped to having a very active imagination. As a girl growing up in the center of a bowl (that’s what the night sky looked like in South Williamstown, MA), she had to have imagination to deal with the isolation of growing up on a farm, the oldest girl, and too smart for her own good. Not unlike one of Pink of Perfection’s patron saint heroines, Anne Shirley, I might add. Perhaps it is not so surprising then that her daughter should have an overactive imagination, too. In fact, it was probably encouraged.

One of my favorite ways of indulging this day-dreamy nature is drawing up blueprints for different ways of living: what a day could look like (a spring day, a week day, a day in Paris), what a house could look like (if I lived in Denmark, if I lived in the woods, if I somehow snatched up a brownstone with crown molding), what my ideal life might be. And again and again, in all of these imaginings, there are familiar tropes: pops of color, cheery fabrics, vintage bicycles, strong coffee, and meals eaten with friends.

But people don’t really pop over for dinner much round these parts. There are dinner parties, which are lovely in their own ways, but then there is just the humble supper: a bowl of soup, a knot of bread, and a friend or two. Those meals make me happiest if only for their sheer simplicity, for the total lack of expectations on the part of either cook or guest. And lack of expectations, in my experience, often leads to something very, very good.

That is why whenever my sister calls to say she will be getting her haircut in my neighborhood and can she come up for dinner, I am overjoyed. It’s not because she never fails to bring Lillet and paté, though those are nice perks — I just wish she ate dinner at my table more often. Katy, consider this, if you didn’t already know you had one, a standing invitation.

And while we are on the subject of my big sister, she said I absolutely had to tell you about the article I co-wrote and researched for the May issue Bon Appétit. I’m loathe to sound braggy, but, well, there it is. My first magazine feature.

Continue reading “Quick, Elegant Spring Dinner” »