An Old Hollywood Cocktail Party: Testing the Art of Food and Cocktail Pairing

We finally did it! (Hear me clapping?)

After years of talking about having an honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, get-dressed-up cocktail party, we finally pulled one off. To help steer the dressing-up into a common vein, we themed the evening "Old Hollywood" and invited a smattering of our friends who love to drink great cocktails as much as we do with a glamorous, homemade invitation (love you, Paper Source! And, yes, I Photoshopped out our address!).

I had no idea how much our friends would get into it. One gentleman grew in a PERFECT Clark Gable mustache. His wife got a new haircut just for the party. Satin gloves, Murray's pomade, red lipstick, mink, feathers...they were everywhere! It was a scream.

My husband, three hours before the party, made personalized tags for the coupe glasses with each person's initials letterpressed into the brass. (I wasn't even going to THINK about using plastic coupe glasses, are you kidding me??? I actually ordered a case of Libbey's retro coupe glasses from Webstaurantstore.com for a great price! You do have to pay shipping, but I think you will find so many amazingly cheap things on that site that you want, it won't matter! )

The atmosphere was easy: dimmed lights, lots of candles, a fire in the fireplace, flowers everywhere, Frank Sinatra serenading.

The food and cocktails? That, my friends, took some serious research. We had to plan this baby out. I didn't want to have a cocktail party that ended with me worrying about people driving home completely sloshed. I did want to have a cocktail party that was memorable and delicious, so here is what we did...

Thanks once again to my sister's years-old birthday gift of The Flavor Bible, Chef Reiton and I created a list of classic cocktails that we love, then I matched up the flavors in each cocktail with corresponding flavors in foods. Thanks to this amazing book, I was able to create a menu of totally old-school hors d'oeuvres that still tasted fabulous AND paired beautifully with the cocktails that we were going to be serving.

Chef Reiton then wrote a spreadsheet to figure out how much of each cocktail to make, portioning it out so everyone got to try each one but ended up only drinking about three beers' worth of alcohol over the course of the evening.

Yes, we made everything from scratch. You don't need to, but we easily prepared all of the food the day before and the day of and just threw the few hot items in the oven right before they were served (the dates and the tart). To be honest, I did get a bit mixed up once and brought the melon and tart out late. Oops. I got distracted. But the plan was mostly pulled off smoothly... So, for your amusement or guidance, here you go:

Available at Arrival: Aperol Spritzers with Everything Spice-Coated Cheddar Cheese Ball (major hit), triple-creamed bleu cheese, Sartori's rosemary asiago, a variety of crackers, figs, red pears and Macoun apples to slice, marinated olives, and chili-jelly veal and beef meatballs in the Crockpot (oh, come on...how could I not?!?!)

(When everyone arrived we explained the evening's plan, how the food and cocktails were paired, that we weren't going to get them blitzed and then send them home, that the ashtray was out on the deck, etc. And theeeeeeeeen...)

Cocktail #1: The Sidecar (NO sugar rim! Gag.) with Parsi Deviled Eggs (from The Best 150 American Recipes) and bacon-wrapped dates (buy bacon; cut the strips in half or thirds; wrap a piece around a date; spear together with a toothpick; place on a cookie sheet with space between each piece; bake in 400º oven for 20 minutes, flipping halfway through. A-MAZ-ING.)

Cocktail #2: The Last Word with prosciutto-wrapped melon slices and an apple, roasted fennel, feta and arugala tart

Cocktail #3: Sage Brown Derby with chicken liver pate and crostinis and Mini Frittatas with Wild Mushrooms (also from The Best 150...)

Cocktail #4: Negroni with Cheddar Walnut Crisps and Sweet and Spicy Nuts (both from The Best 150... Great cookbook, I'm telling you!)

Cocktail #5: The Aviation with cucumber sandwiches with hummus on rye

Cocktail #6: Corpse Reviver #3 with lime-mint guac and salt-and-peppered pita toasts

Cocktail #7: Brandy Alexander with flourless chocolate cake (from Baked) and Brown Butter Dream Cookies (from...you guessed it: The Best 150...).

What an evening! The laughter! The food love! The new friendships made! I can see why people used to throw these parties all the time! Although we don't have the Hollywood budget to do this too too often, I know for sure that we will be doing this again!

Cheers, dah-lings!!!

Cafe Selmarie — Chicago (Lincoln Square), IL — A Restaurant Recommendation

Tucked on the corner of a cute little pedestrian street in Lincoln Square, Cafe Selmarie is a delightful place to spend a late morning, catching up with your BF after months of being out of touch.  I recently spent a summer morning here for brunch with Julissa, one of my dearest friends and a foodie soulmate.

I ordered a sandwich, and Julissa ordered dessert.  Our thoughts?

The fried green tomato BLT: PERFECT.  Crunchy coating on the tomatoes, crisp bacon, soft brioche, tangy aioli.  Delish.

Julissa's chocolate lemon torte? Meh. We both found it quite bland.

It looked awfully pretty, but it was missing something.  I almost felt like it could have used a pinch of salt.  It just finished off flat.  The chocolate could have been a bit more heady, too.

Definitely would go back, though, and give other baked items a try.  And to have that BLT again...

Cooking Dinner for My Very Clean Colon: A First Meal Post Colonoscopy...

It may sound funny, but it's true. After my colonoscopy yesterday, my body is empty.  It's rather a strange feeling. I kind-of feel brand new—like starlight and rainbows...  (I'm just kidding. It really just makes you feel ice-cold, being poop-free.)

So tonight, when I thought about the fact that the ginormous organ inside of me didn't have anything to work on except what I tossed in there for my evening meal—I couldn't help but think twice about dinner.  The idea of gulping down a big spicy dish of somethin'-somethin' or a meaty hunk of whatever didn't sound so great as I stood in front of the open fridge.  I wanted veggies, but even the broccoli looked daunting to digest.  What did I have that was vegetarian but with minimal fiber for this first substantial dinner of mine after being made clean as a whistle?

Well, this is what I pulled out of the fridge, out of the garden, and off the counter:

• that damn box of pea shoots from Trader Joe's again (I was determined to finish it off—only a handful were left.)
• a lemon
• a small zucchini
• a clove of garlic
• a baby bella mushroom
• bacon fat
• 3 little sprigs of cilantro
• kosher salt
• fresh cracked pepper

And here's what I did with it all:

1) Over medium-high heat in a 10-inch skillet, I melted a teensy little teaspoon of bacon fat.  I added the minced garlic clove and the finely chopped mushroom, tossed them in the fat, and let them sizzle, stirring occasionally, for about 2 minutes.

2) I then added the zucchini, quartered lengthwise and chopped into 1/4-inch thick slices on the bias, to the skillet.  I tossed the zucc with the fat to coat the pieces, sprinkled on salt and pepper, stirred it all again, shook the skillet to create an even layer, then let it all sit for 3 minutes.

3) With the bottom side of the zucc nicely browned, I stirred the skillet then scattered on top the handful of pea shoots (gathered up in a bunch on the cutting board then chopped right below the leaves to get rid of the stem portion) and the torn-up leaves of the cilantro sprigs.  I squeezed a quarter of the lemon over the whole mess, then stirred it all to wilt the shoots.

4) I plated the veggies, garnished it with lemon zest from the butt of the lemon, and ATE.

Time to prep? 5 minutes (if you are a slow prepper, like me). Time to cook? 6 minutes. And, oh! What a great surprise! By cooking from my gut (I'm learning!), I prepared a dish for the transition of seasons: deep and earthy from the mushrooms, bacon fat, and garlic. Light from the zucchini. Zingy and bright from the cilantro and lemon.  It was like summer and fall mingling on my plate, both vying for my tongue's attention—and both happily getting it.

A Foodie Honeymoon: Monday Dinner at Domenica

It's strange how anticipation of an event can be a complete killer to an experience because it doesn't live up to what you want it to be.

OR it can be a total laugh because the experience completely blows away even your wildest hopes.

Such was the start of our John Besh honeymoon.  Domenica, his Italian restaurant, was our first stop.  After unloading at the hotel and taking a brief siesta, we walked to this gorgeous restaurant for happy hour (a restaurant who's decor was as fantastically un-Italian as you could get):

Happy hour at Domenica means 1/2 price pizzas, beer, wine by the glass, and well cocktails.  Considering we were going to get pizza and beer anyway, it was quite a deal for such a great place.  But there is something about getting restaurant food for a deal that always makes me feel a little--oh, I don't know--like I'm being cheap.  Which I am.  But I always have a twinge-y feeling that the waitstaff will be disappointed in my cheapness and therefore treat me less.

Well.  Let me introduce you to Vanessa and Corey.  If you have the same qualms as I do, they will make you feel right at home and laugh your qualms to scorn.

The first item set on the table was a bottle of water.  Vanessa introduced herself as Corey, who she was training, and the evening got off to the perfect start with a good laugh.  We introduced ourselves as well--something that I like to do--then Vanessa then took our drink order: I ordered a local IPA, and Chef Reiton ordered a blonde (beer, that is.  Domenica isn't that kind of place...). 

When Vanessa and Corey returned with our beers and a chunk of hot Italian bread with a bottle of pepper-infused olive oil, we chit chatted about what brought us to New Orleans.  Of course our honeymoon came up, and they both responded with congratulatory smiles and remarks.  We told them that we were honeymooning to eat at all of Besh's restaurants, and they asked if we'd eaten at August, yet.  We told them that Domenica was our first and that August would be our last.  And according to them, apparently that was the best way to do it.

In between bites of gorgeously chewy, bubbly bread, we perused the menu; everything sounded so good. Chef Reiton decided that he would go with the Calabrese: spicy salami, tomato, mozzarella, capers, and olives.  I was a little shocked--he hates olives.  But this was what we came to Besh and New Orleans to do: eat foods put in front of us whether we were scared of them or not.  I chose to go with the  Bolzano, a mix of pulled pork shoulder, fennel, bacon, and sweet onion.  

Corey and Vanessa affirmed our food choices as we ordered, then dashed off to the kitchen.  As we waited for our food we snapped some pictures

and talked excitedly of being together, being married, being foodies.

And then Vanessa and Corey showed up.

Not with the pizza but with flutes of sparkling wine.

"Congratulations!" they both said and set the glasses before us.  "It's your honeymoon! We had to do something." 

What a wonderfully surprising treat! We thanked them profusely, then toasted each other, and took another picture.

Soon our pizzas came, way larger than I expected and absolutely gorgeous.  The Calabrese was fantastic: salty from the olives and capers, with a good pucker from their pickling.  The spiciness of the salami bit back, too, but the whole seemingly chaotic mess was sweetened by the tomatoes and  smoothed out in the mellowness of the mozzarella.  It was perfect.  A full tongue experience.

My Bolzano was also very, very good.  It was a much more subtle dish.  The pulled pork was not spicy, and the bacon was not overly salty or smoky.  The meats' flavors were kept simple, given depth and sweetness by the roasted fennel and the sweet onion.  The combination was--comforting.  And it was real food.  I found a bone chip in a chunk of pork, for crying out loud.  Why??? Because THEY ACTUALLY SMOKE AND ROAST THEIR OWN MEAT.  Ohhhhh, foodie heaven.

I giggled as we snapped away at our food, glancing around to see if anyone was frowning upon our unclassy behavior.  "I don't care," I muttered as Chef Reiton framed the shot.  "We came here to eat, and there is no way I'm blogging without pictures."

When we couldn't eat anymore, Corey and Vanessa insisted that we have dessert.  We both paused, and they suggested we share--then left us with the dessert menu and the words "Banana Zuppa Inglese" ringing in our ears.  We read the description: "moist banana cake, butterscotch mousse, and peanut brittle."  One glance across the table said the same thing: we're on our HONEYMOON.  And when Corey came back, we simply said, "Let's do it."

A few minutes later, we were presented with this (you can see Chef Reiton couldn't wait):

Our first notice was of the vessel: a canning jar! So rustic. So simple. So screaming "HOMEMADE!!!"  

And then I noticed something even more unusual: I liked the brittle, and I HATE peanuts.

I was very quickly starting to understand this about a first class restaurant (which I have frequented very, VERY rarely in my 37 years): here, delight is in everything, because everything everything is made from scratch from quality ingredients.  No half assing.  No skimping.  No cheating.  Make it the real way and make it good, and you will have customers like Chef Reiton and I making obscene noises at your dinner table.

A final discovery with our dessert was this: it is truly a delightful experience to dive downward with your spoon and resurface with an array of ingredients that look to be completely distinguishable but meld in your mouth to become one utterly unified flavor unlike anything you had tasted before.  Creative flavor genius at work. 

Shortly after demolishing our B.Z.I., Corey and Vanessa came to check on us and give us the bill--and a plate of fudge cookies.  They congratulated us again--and we thanked them again: two of the most delightful people who had ever waited on us.

As Chef Reiton signed the check and we pushed the last plate away, we turned to each other, brushed the crumbs off our fronts, and laughed.  We were stuffed.  We were happy.  We had leftover pizza. 

We had started the journey.