I woke up this morning at 7:15 riding the elation still spilling over from the night before. My dream-lined dinner was an outstanding success! I could not be more pleased or proud. And I have not felt such overwhelming joy since Ryan and I were married almost three years ago.
Yes, I will unashamedly compare a four course meal I served to five lovely and willing guests to my wedding day because in many ways it is the same. Like my wedding day, I waited for the day to come in anticipation, I planned (in fact, in both cases I waited to a few weeks before to plan most of it) and on the day I felt too anxious to eat real food thinking that it might turn my mind away from the tasks at hand, but nervously snacked all day on gold fish crackers. I ruminated over the evening-- the experience I hoped people would have and what kind of candle sticks I wanted to burn. And like my wedding, the evening was the fulfillment of a commitment and a dream that I made to myself and my lovely and willing guests.
The whole dinner might have been a disaster had I not heeded Ryan's explicit advice to follow the recipe. Some days I fantasize that I am an experienced chef working out my creativity in the kitchen and I think that it won't affect the integrity of a loaf of bread if I omit a teaspoon of salt to save my heart, but of course, it always does. The miracle of bread is that it satisfies the palate and the appetite and it is made of only three ingredients. Salt being the third is vital to the bread's integrity.
I tested his advice the night before on our pizza dough. I wish I had a before picture, because when I made pizza dough a couple months ago, it was slimy and gooey. Though I left the pizza in the oven longer than recommended the dough did not rise or cook. Ryan and I literally scraped the toppings of the goopy-gloppy dough and shoveled them onto the crispy-burned parts trying to rectify what was too far gone. We ate dissatisfaction and disappointment that night.
That night Ryan promised to make dough the next time, and he did. Much like everything Ryan tries, he is sickeningly good at it the first time. I bowed down and swore never to make the dough again, but we were in a crisis this week and it was either I made the dough or no Friday night pizza. The Greens can't go without their pizza I suppose.
If preparing an outstanding four course meal is comparable to my wedding day then the pride that comes from baking a perfect pizza pie must compare to the feelings a mother has for her first born.
With the success of the pizza, I added homemade Italian rustic bread to the menu. The bread became one of the four courses to keep my guests mouths watering as I finished off the main course. I am glad I included the bread in the menu because it also ended up providing the rhythm for my cooking schedule on Saturday.
Though I entertained my taste buds, as I walked from stall to stall, unlike other Saturday's, today, I was on a mission. For the last several weeks, I had been scouting out the fresh fare and knew which farmer I wanted to buy my asparagus from and who would sell me their potatoes. I also planned to spend more than my allowance on beautiful flowers. The week before lilacs made their grand appearance, and it took all my restraint to wait for my dinner to buy them. I could hardly sleep with anticipation of having a bunch of my own. When I finally walked away from the market, weighed down with flowers and produce, I sunk my face in the vibrant purple bundle of lilacs on my arm and giggled with joy that usually only comes from a child's heart.
My plan for Saturday was simple: clean the house, set the table, cook dinner for six. Though simple enough, I actually planned almost every minute of the day from the time I woke up to moving the chicken from the bottom rack to the top rack at 6:45 pm. On the menu :
Homemade bread takes attention and care if you want it to turn out right, and I wanted it to be perfect. I kneaded it, pounded it, then fluffed and folded it every hour for three hours. Shaped it and finally baked it, all combined for a total of seven hours of preparation before service. When it was served, oh, chewy, crusty, crunchy, airy, yeasty heaven on earth. It was delicious and I will toot my own horn. I think the secret is in following the recipe and baking with bread flour. I will never go back to all- purpose again.
The wild mushroom bisque was all and more than I could have hoped for: completely vegan, delicious, satisfying, stand alone taste of the good earth.
The bread and thyme & wild mushroom bisque were crowd pleasers (even those who afterwords admitted to a distaste for mushrooms), but the succulent, moist, lemon herb chicken held its own too. I almost strayed away from meat entirely to avoid the common cooking blunder of over (or in the case of chicken under cooking) the meat. I decided I could not, not cook meat for this experimental feast, every chef has to at least know they can cook meat, even if they choose not to.
I was so nervous about the main course meat that I read over the recipe ten to fifteen times during the day and consulted my mother about a step that was up for interpretation. She shared her years of cooking experience with me and we came up with a reasonable revision to the recipe. And it worked!
Becca repeatedly commented that it tasted like ham, which is weird, but a compliment none the less, because people usually say that anything bland tastes like chicken. I guess the fact that it tasted like ham to her means it was well-flavored. I am glad the chicken came out, because I tossed and turned several nights in angst about the chicken and how I wanted to prepare it.
The entire evening was a delight. The only thing I would change is my timing. Everything was ready on time except for the main course. The rosemary herb potatoes and steamed asparagus finished cooking before the chicken, so I would time things out differently, and perhaps just bake the chicken and potatoes together next time like a roast.
After the bread and the chicken, my dinner guests so fully believed in my magic abilities in the kitchen, that they thought I hand-made the wonderful fresh mint and carob chip ice cream we enjoyed for dessert. I wish, and maybe next time, but I bought it from Caramello at the South Pasadena farmer's market. Did I mention that ninety-nine percent of the food came from our farmer's market, and most of it I picked that day. It is no wonder the meal was fresh and satisfying.
Bon Appetit!
And there will be a next time. I am high on dinner parties. When I woke up this morning, I was coming up with ideas for possible themed dinners...
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