a party-party

In our house, five is the magic number for dinner parties. Part of this is out of necessity -- we can only squeeze five people around our dining table. It also makes menu planning easy. Most recipes feed six to eight people, so you're always covered food-wise. But I also think five is a good number for conversations. It's intimate but still lively enough that it feels like a party. You never go to bed feeling like you didn't get a chance to talk to everyone and missed out on good gossip.

But like many people who love to entertain at home, I've held onto a fantasy of hosting a really big party. Not five people, more like 25. I would swan around, refilling drinks and setting out tray after tray of delightful finger foods, dropping into conversations here and there. Now, this is unrealistic for many reasons, mostly because our circle of friends has been whittled down over the years thanks to people moving out of New York (losers!). Also, I don't own 25 forks. And don't really like making an entire menu of finger foods.

So when I decided to throw a housewarming party for our new apartment, I struck a compromise with myself and invited eight people for a party of 10, counting Dan and myself. Ten seemed do-able. I would make a ton of food and it would be an actual party. Not a dinner party, a party-party.

In the end, it ended up being five adults and one toddler. And did I make less food? Absolutely not.

a note fromm mabel

Mabel heer.

Woh. Anunthr day, anuthr partee.

Evr sence we muved into the noo hous ther hav ben so manee partees. As the peeple lik to sey, Mabel is al parteed out.

It taks alot to be a good hostee. Wen I heer the buzz sownd thet meens peepl are heer I run to the dor to tel them with lowd barks to say Im heere, up Here. Becus maybee they dont kno wher to go.

fall favorites

Even though I haven't been blogging that much, I have been cooking a ton. If summer is about doing as little as possible to fresh ingredients, fall is about baking, and braising, and struggling to cut butternut squash. (Pro tip for the lazy: buy it pre-cut.)

Whether or not it feels like fall where you are, you can fake that wonderful chill-in-the-air feeling with food. Here's a roundup of some really good fall recipes I've been making lately:

Dan's parents were in town for a long weekend, so I hosted dinner one night. Being that they were up from Florida, I wanted to make a meal that really felt like October in New York. Which is exactly what this pumpkin pilaf tastes like. I'm sure you're skeptical already. A pilaf, with pumpkin in it? It is wonderful, and it can be made all in one pot. Let me break it down for you: tender rice, savory onions, Indian-inspired spices (tumeric, cumin, cinnamon), sweet chunks of squash, plump raisins and grassy parsley. I substituted butternut squash for the pumpkin and also added a handful of almonds. 

grilled cheese, please

I’m not a huge grilled cheese person. I like the sensory pleasure of crunching into dry, buttery toast and melty cheese, but it's not something I crave. I'd rather eat cheese on a pizza, or just straight up with some cured meat.

However, as a kid, it was often my standard order in restaurants, along with chicken fingers and Shirley Temples. Ah, to be a budding lush, oblivious to calories. I remember the thick, oily toast and oozy American cheese at Denny’s in particular. It was cut into two triangles and served with a pile of wavy-cut fries the same color as the toast. Maybe that’s why I’m not such a fan now.

But then fall rolls around, and I start thinking soups, and autumnal salads, and what goes better with those two things? You got it.

good things

So this happened last week.

Can you see the look of intense concentration on my face? I am whisking a pot of béchamel, trying to make sure I am whisking at approximately the same speed as Martha, praying she will not scold me in a room full of people, like she does to Marcus Samuelsson in that Macy’s commercial. I love that commercial, and I love Martha. But I really didn’t want a scolding.

the first supper

Readers, we made it. Barely.

We arrived at our new apartment while it was still under construction. Surprise! A day and a half later -- and two gas leaks in the kitchen (surprise!) -- we started getting settled in. I forgot how utterly exhausting it is to move. Everyone knows moving's not fun, not something you want to do every year, or even every seven years, but the physicality of it! The lifting and bending and reaching and scrubbing and shoving a too-big clothing rack down three flights of stairs. Whew!

goodbye, kitchen

Goodbye, kitchen.

Goodbye, countertops. You measure a little less than two feet across but were just wide enough. (Okay, not quite.)

Goodbye, pitifully small Modern Chef gas oven that produced slanted cakes, countless meals and on one occasion, stopped working right before a dinner party. Modern Chef, I wish I knew how old you were. At what point in time were you considered modern? How many meals have you cooked in your lifetime? You seem as permanent as our apartment’s crown molding and wood floors; an old fixture that should never be changed. Sorry, new tenants.