Hello hello,
I have spent a luxurious morning reading in bed, one of life’s finest offerings as far as pastimes go. The book, given to me last Christmas, was as yet unread so I figured I better read it before a whole year elapsed. Truth be told it was perfect timing because the book in question is a small Truman Capote collection called A Christmas Memory. By the time Christmas Day rolls around its glimmer is nearly over. By then it’s about time to move onto other fantasies, like for example, Spring. The very best part of anything is the getting in the mood beforehand. Say in October or November or even the start of December. The planning, the swirling vision, the atmosphere. That’s the true ticket, and now is the time. God I love Truman, I’ve been weeping with every story. I highly recommend if you want to cry and get wrapped up in ideas like fruitcakes, and family, and children, and winter.
It’s not enough just to write words that mean the right thing. For every word, regardless of its definition has a different mood. Two words that mean the same thing can have entirely different spirits and temperaments. Truman is the best at this. He’s one of these people I just can’t believe is dead because he feels so like a friend. My friend Truman, so alive and succinct and romantic. I feel I could call him, gossip, and have lunch. Long to take a bath with the phone cord wrapped and wound about the whole house leading to some exquisite silver basin filled with bubbles. When it comes to people I don’t actually know, this strange sensation is typically reserved for writers. This disbelief that they are not still on the earth. I want them here so much, they make it seem like an OK place to be.
In any case, as promised, this newsletter is about The Dinner Party—one of life’s other main attractions and pleasures as far as I’m concerned. There is no linear script, no unimpeachable formula. But there are a few ideas, a few loose blueprints.
It is important, for the dinner party, and for life, to get comfortable with the concept of one’s own associations. By this I mean, everything you have ever loved, witnessed, tasted, seen, touched, observed, hated, researched, been given, watched, or thought about has lodged itself into you as part of a larger patchwork of symbols ready and ripe to be incorporated into any and all thematic vignettes of your choosing. The dinner party is one of life’s more readily available canvases for a thematic vignette.
Take for example, the Portuguese custard tart. I once become very excited by the idea of making a larger version of one of these, to be served sliced. The color of the custard, in my mind, seemed spiritually linked to a deep bougainvillea-esque magenta, and since it was Winter at the time of this revery, I began to imagine big platters of purpleish chicories, particularly radicchio. The image of piles of purple Radicchio beside giant goldenrod Pastel de natas then invoked an image of the butter-white orchids lined in watercolor strokes of magenta that I had seen at a flower stand in Park Slope. The orchids framed by yellow wax candles then inspired a vision of carved pork splayed out fan-like on platters with sticky slivers of lemon zest softened by pork fat. Each slice mimicking, only ever so slightly, the shape of an orchid petal. You see what I’m saying.
You might also think of it as a through line. Like, perhaps the through-line is something briny, bright, red. In the Summer you might make pepperonata on singed toast with slivers of rosemary-cured lardo fainting translucently over, and then serve chicken and white wine stew spiced with red peppers and branches of rosemary to be served over wild rice and drunk with a vivid and sappy Cortese. The whole night would taste of the beaming high note of white wine, splashed not only in the pepperonata to deglaze the pan, but also of course in the chicken soup, and again in your glass. It would taste of hearty shrubby herbs, things touched by fire, capsaicin tingles, and lemons.
You could also decide something simple, decide two or three things just go together, are kindred. I have a friend whose parents used to throw parties where they served only Guinness and Champagne, alongside big boiled then roasted hams carved up beside little accoutrements.
Ok, but from the beginning. I like to set the table early in the day. It is one of the nicest parts, and looking at a set table gives one a sense of calm later on when you begin to feel like the cooking will never end. I like a white linen tablecloth, preferably old rough but well ironed hemp/linen, and in my opinion you can never have too many, so I keep an eye out for them always at flea markets and thrift shops and jumble sales. I also believe deeply in cloth napkins. I don’t know why it’s become normal to not give people a napkin when they sit down for dinner. Whenever I go to someone’s house for dinner and they don’t give me any sort of napkin (not even a paper towel! I would gladly take a paper towel.) I feel extremely nervous. Good cloth napkins bought new can be pricy, so once again worth looking out for second-hand. An ironed cloth napkin is a promise of lovely order. I like to have some flowers on the table, or a bowl of pretty fruit. But at the end and out of the way so people don’t feel crowded. I also like to have a candlestick centered at either end and some kind of hot pad or wicker mat for hot pots and pans. Wine glasses, water glasses (another thing I hate is when there is no water on the table, you must stay hydrated people!), pitcher of water, appropriate cutlery.
As everyone arrives I often like to have a starting drink. I did not invent this concept, it’s fairly classic. Say a glass of sparking, or a cocktail (in Summer I’m partial to a negroni, in winter a manhattan, any time a martini). If I fear the kick of a cocktail (because of whatever is happening the next day or because of how I’m feeling in general, or because of the nature of the meal), a lighter and always welcome option is a glass of sparkling wine. On the table I will have snacky things, but rarely bread, for unless my first course revolves around bread I typically avoid it, as people are liable to fill up on it and be finished before the main course even emerges. For this reason I tend to stick to things like olives, pickles, Spanish almonds, and occasionally, potato chips.
My menus often include three courses, something to draw the evening out. Although, not always, for sometimes it is nice to mix up the whole thing. Sometimes you might decide tonight I am only going to serve rosé and empanadas, and thus rosé and empanadas is the theme from start to finish. Casually, big piles of them, with spiced tomato sauce and pickled golden beets. A bunch of different bottles of pink wine you’ve been meaning to try.
When I do three courses, I often choose for my first course something lighter that can be presented beautifully at the table (for example a lovely array of vegetables each presented differently, say steamed, pickled, and raw alongside bagna càuda, or whole heads of oozing roasted garlic with baked goats cheese, and very fine slivers of toast). Recently, some friends came to stay, and I chose to simply boil up three huge gorgeous artichokes beside little bowls of melted butter and mayonnaise and sea salt. This was perfect as a starting course, not too filling, but delicious and interactive. It made a good entrance. Good for the eyes and for the appetite.
The first course also involves its own wine. If I’m drinking with a meal its nearly always wine, cocktails knock you over too swiftly and/or are too demanding taste-wise. A beer is good with a sandwich sitting by a river or even before a meal when you’re hungry, but is otherwise too filling. Wine is the obvious companion of food, and I play one of two ways, depending on the audience. If for some reason I feel I really need to control the environment I will serve wines I have had a thousand times, whose consistency I trust, and whose pairing I am almost absolutely certain of. However most of the time, there are bottles accumulating in my cellar that I’m eager to try. Try either for the first time or a new vintage of etc. Thus, I often do a little research, knowing the general profile I’m going for, and select based on the grape and what I know about the producer and region. It is exciting to try things together! If it’s really awful it can go in the vinegar pot, and we can open something else. And if it’s simply not what we expected, it might find its place later in the meal. Like, for example, a Mark Angeli rosé this summer, which proved too syrupy for rabbit and borlotti bean stew but found its home splendidly later in the evening, with some alpine cheeses. Having a back up bottle in the fridge or at the ready is always a good plan.
It’s fun to play a game of chance with friends. Let us try new things together and talk about them! If we occasionally must discard a shockingly horrid magnum of Alsatian pinot noir, so be it. There will be at least, a good stock of red wine vinegar in the future. The moment of shared delight and revelation that can occur oppositely, is worth the risk.
For main course I am partial to a meat dish, though if I’m serving vegetarians (with the exception of holidays) I will often just do so for everyone rather than designing a substitution. Otherwise, Roast Chicken is my gold standard, my favorite meal. Though lamb chops are easy and delicious, especially if served outside in Summer. Once, I was invited to a dinner party in London. After our long drive we arrived slightly late and tired. Upon arrival we were handed little individual bowls of paprika coated potato chips, though we were all seated inside, the host went out to their small back courtyard to grill lamb chops, which was nice because it left the house free of the smoky lingering smells and gave the lamb chops a lovely grilled quality. They served them, very classically, with salsa verde, and some salad. And for dessert there was a cheese plate. Resplendent huge cuts of cheese in three kinds, larger than would ever be completed by one party alone. But they were lovely, like bouquets of flowers, making an impression on their wooden board, promising plenty. A gesture of generosity and showmanship.
I tend to serve salad or some kind of vegetable dish with my main course unless it is a stand alone, like a hearty soup. Salad goes with everything and is good for you. In my family we always always have salad with dinner. It lightens everything up, provides that intrusion of vinegar and levity main dishes so desperately need. Truth be told the main dish, for me, always runs the risk of both boredom and overwhelm. It needs to either be intrinsically interesting and unstuffy, or be delicately lifted by the arms so it may swing jovially and not remain rooted in stodgy depressing obligation.
When I am not serving meat with some kind of bean dish and salad, or a nice soup, or lamb chops, I am often serving a savory tart. This is very good for vegetarians and I am partial to the beauty of a shallot galette, set in cheese and served with a dallop of crème fraîche and a handful of lemony arugula (rocket). Depending on the number and pace of your guests, you will likely be opening a new wine that is suitable for your main course. It isn’t totally necessary, but if possible its nice to change glasses, especially if you’re switching from a white to red. If you don’t have a lot of glasses, don’t worry, it’s fine. But if it’s a nice wine everyone might benefit from a little rinse before proceeding.
For me, it is important to get the bulk of the prep work done long before anyone arrives. All that should be left are finishing touches—things being heated or crisped up, herbs or nuts being scattered atop a dish, parts waiting to be assembled together etc. Consider what can be pre-cooked. For example, say you are roasting a tray of vegetables, those can be seasoned and roasted in advance and then stuck under the broiler swiftly right before serving to give them heat and life. A chicken can be placed in the oven to cook two hours before you want to serve, and rested in the turned-off oven a further 20 minutes, should you need it. Dessert should definitely be completed in advance. I don’t know about you but once I start chatting and drinking wine I am no longer fit to follow careful instruction or method. In fact I’m barely fit to follow basic instruction and method. Once, I had some people over for dinner and for dessert I had poached quince in white wine, stewing it for a long long time to reveal its rosy blush. The plan was to add sugar to taste at the last minute, after straining most of the liquid away, and then pair with whipped cream and hazelnuts. Suffice to say I forgot the sugar entirely and subjected everyone to an extremely tart after dinner treat.
Do yourself a favor and just get everything as done as possible. Then as the night unfolds you will have the pleasure of moving between the kitchen and the guests unharried and graceful.
That being said, I really resent the idea that doing little bits of dishes throughout the night is a party-killer. I feel it is the opposite. The host’s peace of mind is in fact imperative for a smooth dinner party atmosphere. It is a delicate dance between embracing mess and moderating it. No matter what you do there will be mess tomorrow. It is crucial to accept the fundamental messiness of conviviality. Someone will spill red wine on your white table cloth, they might even break a glass. It’s ok! Beautiful things were meant to be used and are thus subjected to their own kind of mortality. Stains come out, life goes on. Tell your mess maker that it is ok, tell them tablecloths were meant to be dirtied, pour them another glass of the offending liquid. But, go ahead and tidy up in-between courses. Washing the sparkling wine glasses and the plates from whatever you served first will probably take less than five minutes and will clear up space in your kitchen and in your mind. Coming downstairs to a choicely left mess rather than the utter chaos of every single dish that was used the night before will make clean up a lot less overwhelming.
I am not a huge dessert person. I do however relish the verging-on-maniacal-delight of people who do love sweets. They are, by far, the most gratifying crowd to please. They lose their minds, become rhapsodic and poetical, all for good cake. And I love them for that. As such I have a sturdy repertoire of desserts I tweak mildly depending on what ingredients are in season, that are always pleasing. Upsidedown cakes moist with buttermilk and stamped with plums or blood orange, olive oil cakes full of honey, custards or whipped creams with poached fruit and crushed nuts, fruit galettes scattered with demerara sugar, homemade madeleines. These are my go-tos. I like to serve a dessert wine (Ezio Cerruti’s Sol is perfect) or an eau de vie (anything from Laurent Cazottes, though the greengage brandy is my favorite), or a good cognac (I like Le Roch) or in certain events an Amaro (Varnelli Amaro Dell'Erborista is my favorite) beside. It will depend on the dessert at hand.
Finally, if this is a truly hedonistic affair and the night is just not quitting, a cheese plate could be administered alongside a bottle of something with just a touch of residual sugar (lately I’m partial to the very well priced Clos du Tue Boeuf, Vin Blanc) or if you are feeling flush and have it at the ready, a good Vin Jaune. If this occurs I am sorry for your headache tomorrow but sometimes it simply cannot be helped. The conversation and merriment outweighs good sense and there we all are at the table 7 hours later. I am partial to Comté or Emmentaler, but typically include with them some kind of British cheddar like Hafod, and a soft goats cheese too. Maybe with some kind of fruit and rye crackers.
The adage clean as you go might feel obvious but I cannot stress it enough. I not only do every dish I possibly can that doesn’t literally have food residing in it, but I also move all my pots and wipe down the stove and then return them to their rightful burners on a clean stovetop. I wipe down the counters, sweep the floor, and dry/put away all the clean dishes so that the drainer is empty and ready to accept the next round. There is nothing better in that last hour before everyone arrives, than looking around at a clean kitchen with a meal nearly entirely ready to go, knowing you now have time to hop in the shower and ask Dani to put on some music and get ready in a leisurely way.
All this being said, sometimes you do not have time to dedicate your entire day to prepping for a party. This is merely my idea of a best-case-scenario. A certain bliss, such time for attention to detail. Mirthful hours of planning, giddy well-organized anticipation being my favorite state to exist in. Money too, as always, helps. But, lots of it is not necessary. I have spent most of my life constructing environments of plenty, without much. A feeling of glittery generosity can be conjured with really good lentil soup and enthusiasm, I promise you.
The guests arrive, there is a feeling, with every knock or door bell ring of a kind of childhood holiday nostalgia. An exclamation of You’re here! A round of compliments for jackets, and dresses, and haircuts. The smell of everyone, so personal and clean and dressed up. The enchantment you once observed—before being shepherded off to bed, or heard from your room down the hall, tinkling and chiming through the house—is now yours. The dinner party is one of adulthood’s greatest privileges.
Tomorrow, before you scurry to scrub away the night, take a moment to appreciate the beauty of your mess. The ghosty remnants of pleasure. Burned-down blue candlestick nubs, loose tobacco furls, red wine stained rings, cloudy fingerprinted glasses, tangerine peels scorched at the edge and smelling of their oil, coffee cups, and dropped blooms. Drink a big glass of sparkling water and gently start the dishes. This too, is part of it. Take pleasure in the hot water giving way to fresh clean wholesomeness. In your woozy lilting tiredness. The morning, the calm of solitude, the relief of no rich food or wine today. A starchy sparse feeling, a hot shower, depleted but also full. An early bedtime, some scrambled eggs, a note of thanks left in the porch.
Sending love and hopes of many dinner parties to come! xxx
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