With my mom in New York till the Summer, my Dad's been encouraging my brother and I to come over and "hang out."
Hanging out wth my dad generally means cooking, eating and drinking. So, in the midst of a new love affair with Michael Ruhlman, I said to my dad, "Hey, I wanna learn how to make pate. Maybe I'll come over for a weekend and we can experiment."
My father's face lit up. "We can have people over!"
I type this sitting at my father's desk, with guests to arrive in 3 hours. It's 1000 degrees inside and out, we've got dessert baking in the oven only making it hotter, my dad is out on the deck, repairing his "water element" and I am convinced my pate isn't setting.
None the less, here is our menu:
Smooth 80's style chicken liver Pate with Judy's Crackers.
Cowgirl Creamery Red Hawk Stinky Cheese
Whatever Vegan appetizer Alex is bringing for Zoe, our vegan guest.
Stuffed onions, mushrooms and zucchini; a family tradition brought to us from the old world via Ellis Island, literally
Butterflied leg of lamb with mint jelly
(gnocchi with wilted baby arugula and herbs from the garden for Zoe)
Strawberry Spoonbread with Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote and Creme Fraiche
Soy Ice Cream and Violet Crumble (again, fo the vegan in da house ... ewww. why did I just type that?)
Coffee, tea, foreign liquor my dad smuggled from somewhere
My mother called from New York, inquiring as to the preparations. "Well, mom. I just set the table and I didn't iron the napkins. I felt bad about it, and then I figured my mother would turn over in her fancy Greenwich Village pied-a-terre as opposed to her grave and thought to myself, fuck it."
Just pray my pate is setting, people. I feel like Colicchio is going to show up to this Quickfire and can my ass...