Monday, September 15, 2008

Saturday Dinner

This past Saturday, Rachael and I had a dinner party in (belated) honor of Charlie's 25th birthday. While I may have told myself the menu stemmed from a quasi-visceral reaction to how Charlie's essence and personality, whatever that means, it was more of a chance to try out different ideas, pairings, and techniques I have heretofore not attempted.

The Menu:

Caramelized Belgian Endive with Frisee, Julienned Apples and Roasted Beet Puree

Crab Ravioli, atop a Basil Beurre Blanc, with a Roasted Yellow Pepper Puree

Maple-braised Pork Shoulder with Zucchini Crepe

Lemon Thyme Pound Cake with White Peach-Raspberry Compote and Lavender Creme Fraiche

I said I would give myself ample prep time, and though I did get a good amount accomplished before Charlie even got there, I still found myself somewhat "in the weeds" at points. That, or I just felt as if I was always sweating, catching up, and generally at a hurried pace. Anyway. Rachael and I got back from Fairway in Red Hook (Fairway!) at around 5:45, and I started with the pork braise. Admittedly, this was the dish I was least prepared for. My plan was vague; a tougher cut of pork (shoulder) that I could braise for a while, in some maple liquid, to greatly tenderize. In my mind, I sort of saw the pieces as coming out as I put them in, skewering them, and placing them on a zucchini crepe. I'll get back to that later. I diced some bacon and rendered some of its fat because, well, bacon tastes good. Overkill, but again, I'll get back to that. I through in some apple cider balsamic, onions, celery, and even some roasted chicken demi glace and left the pork to itself. Course Three: done.

At some point during all this, I started roasting both the yellow peppers and the beets. The yellow peppers blackened well under the broiler, and they peeled with ease. Then, the pasta; I made the dough and let it set for a while, because by the time Charlie came along, I was filling the ravioli. I accidentally double layered some of the bottoms. Worse, I put the finished stuffed pasta in the microwave (not like that) just to sit, not realizing how much heat the space contracted, being above the oven and all. It really dried out, the filling at least. Also: I feel the dough was a bit too wet.

I caramelized and roasted the Belgian endives (for too long), blended together a fairly unexciting beet dressing, thinly chopped some apples in a little balsamic (good taste) and the salad was served. Aside from the mediocre beet and the overcooked endive, pretty good. For the pasta, I started to reduce white wine, fish stock, and shallots as we ate salad. I did not reduce this enough, however, and when it came to blending in the basil and cold butter, it was not very thick at all. So, naturally, I added lots of corn starch. Eventually, it got clumpy but thick. I placed two spoonfuls of the basil beurre blanc on the plate, laid two or three of the over/under/not-sure-what-cooked ravioli atop that, and drizzled some of the roasted yellow pepper puree over that. People enjoyed it, but the whole affair was way too rich, especially with what was yet to come.

After the ravioli came the maple braised pork. Though I uncovered the pot and tried to reduce and thicken the liquid some time prior, I had to go to the cornstarch again to give it a good thickening. And I used a lot of it. The dish was way too heavy, fatty, and sweet, glistening like polyurethane poo crowned with a paltry cilantro sprig that fooled nobody into thinking this would be making it to their colon anytime soon. Though again, accolades from around the table, I could not even finish it.

Oh, and at some point earlier, I also threw a lemon thyme pound cake into the oven. This came out very well, though with that much butter and sugar, like I always say, how could it really have not? I whipped together a quick white peach-raspberry compote; roughly blended the peaches, and made a simple syrup, though I used way too much water. It was really just dissolved sugar water. I topped the cake and compote with a dollop of lavender creme fraiche, store bought with some dried lavender thrown in, where it should have really been infused. Despite these shortcomings, this may have been the most successful dish of the night.

So, as for the major lessons of the night:

-A sugary crust on an endive is nice, but not when the endive is overcooked.

-Respect pasta more. Give it a proper place to sit for a but before boiling. Also, remove some excess water from the filling.

-Reduce the wine/stock of the beurre blanc much more. Let stirring and temperature and time take its course before resorting to corn starch.

-Have a plan for a dish. Throwing random shit together, without considering a certain reasoning for each addition, should be avoided. Much like what Orwell said about writing in two words what you can say in one (whether or not that is true in the literary sense, another discussion entirely).

-Equal parts water and sugar for a simple sugar

-And most importantly, BE AWARE of how RICH AND HEAVY each dish will be. Consider offsetting a particularly rich dish with lighter precedents to compliment things. Nobody likes feeling disgustingly full...

As I tried to sleep that night, or perhaps the next morning, I couldn't stop thinking about all the shortcomings of the dinner, and more so, how I could ever manage the cater such a huge affair by myself. The meticulous planning and preparation involved. How over my head I would surely feel. How much anxiety I often feel when I find myself "in the weeds", which is often if not always with these dinner parties, and friends are much more forgiving than paying clients. Maybe, like most things I imagine myself doing, I am not thinking about the realities of this catering plan thoroughly enough. I can never tell if I am being too hard or too easy on myself at any given time. Either way, I'll keep things simpler, if only a bit lighter, next time.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

"Editor's Note"

As most things begin arbitrarily (except the new French Republic, which was methodically planned to begin on Bastille Day, and what a day it was!) I decided not to labor in fruitless circuitousness over the subject of the first post. I just decided to do the first thing that came to mind, almost to get it out of the way.

So, here it is: I wrote the original draft of this at work, copy for a Wal-Mart in-store television ad. I added the additional segments perhaps in frustration for, well, being assigned to write an extremely benign, bland, huckster script.




Jerry-
With a (very) fine-toothed comb, I was able to lift some excellent copy from your work on the Wal-Mart pre-paid cell phone spot. Keep up the great work! But, in the future, please respect our client’s requests for a relatively benign tone in their advertisements.

Please see my suggestions for omission in RED.


The Nu-Phone (:30 spot)

A happy, animated pre-paid cell phone, Chip, bounces around an open space in front of a multi-colored backdrop. “Key points” of focus pop up on the screen as he introduces them.

Everybody loves a surprise, except when the surprise is an unexpected phone bill. Worse yet, when the surprise is the ex-husband you threw out of the own house weeks ago, with nothing more than the clothes on his back, furtively eying you from the linen closet as you go through the motions of your banal daily chores. I mean, yeah, pesky bills notifying you that you have gone three and a half hours over your nights-and-weekends minutes can elicit some groans or mild profanity, but nothing like the soul-retching screams for mercy elicited as you in full consciousness watch your kidneys being clumsily pried from a crude slit in your lower abdomen and individually wrapped in the two matching lavender-with-a-mauve-trim hand towels, which you both bought with the intention of hanging in the guest bathroom so overnight visitors could distinguish the fresh atypical hand towels as the ones you supplied for them to use for the duration of their stay, right before your terror-saturated corneas. (I know you changed the locks Helen!)

Pre-paid cell phones offer all the convenience of fast, instantaneous connection wherever, whenever, much like the shameless unsolicited sexual magnetism my wife exhibited when she had so much as a half-glass of sherry in her. Honest to God, it didn’t matter if we were entertaining close friends on a quiet Friday evening or at a company family picnic on a Sunday afternoon. I’ve heard that woman offer to do things I haven’t even been able to find on the internet to total strangers. True story: She once fellated a shift of Sbaro employees at a New York Thruway rest stop and when I accused her of the infidelity, she called me a bad father and insisted I wait in the car while she used my credit card to treat the blowees to Carvel. But, they leave the hassle of binding contracts and unexpected bills in the dust! Much like the “binding contract” we swore to uphold the rueful day I officially made her my whore of a wife.

Plus, unlike rigid monthly plans, airtime cards put you in control. Pay only for the minutes you want to use! Ah, control! A curious, precarious beast. How you tyrannically manipulated the counterbalance with our three kids, on the fulcrum of societies preconceptions of maternal supremacy in the formative years of a child.

And because you add minutes as you need them, you don’t need a high credit score to go pre-paid. In fact, you don’t even need a credit card at all. The latter something my accountant told me as I sobbed over the fact that it would take me seven-years to repair my credit after Helen spent impossible sums on platinum dog chains and mink knee socks. But by all means, open a joint account in your own honeymoon years and you too can someday relish in the serene transcendence of paying for a discounted floor-model blender with rolls of dimes.

You don’t pay for gas that goes unused, so why pay for minutes that go to waste? After all, time is something you’ll never get back! To get exactly what you pay for, visit the Connection Center for a whole range of pre-paid cell phones here at Wal-Mart. She won’t let me see our children. How could this have happened? Aren’t I in the right here? Am I crazy?!?

Chip starts weeping and cursing incomprehensible to the heavens until falling to his knees and really letting go.

Chryon: Brought to you by the Nu-Phone, here at Wal-Mart.