How to wine and dine your friends and neighbors

If I could host dinner guests for a living, I probably would. Come Wednesday afternoon of any given week, I start thumbing through my recipe files, surfing the internet, and hoping we might be able to drum up a few hungry people for dinner on Saturday night. With lots of practice over the past few years, I've come up with a pretty good dinner party method...good enough, at least, to keep entertaining fun, and the food tasty enough to garner a compliment or two.

The aforementioned thumbing and surfing could go on indefinitely. I usually have multiple menus sketched out by the time I can back away slowly from the computer and make up a grocery list. I am a big fan of the recipe database on epicurious.com. Its search function is better than any other recipe site I know. For those folks like me who like to see a version of the final product, there are lots of pretty pictures to boot. Best of all, epicurious readers submit helpful reviews of the recipes they've tried, many with precise information about what went right and what went wrong for them. The test kitchens of Gourmet and Bon Appetit may have tinkered with every recipe on the site, but when six out of ten reviewers report that the suggested baking time turned out a dry cake, you know to keep a close eye on yours during the last few minutes in the oven. Since the idea of preparing only "tried and true" recipes for dinner parties makes me feel tired and cranky, these tips are pretty darn handy.

When it comes to putting together a menu, I usually choose three--or, if I'm feeling adventurous, four--separate courses. I've noticed that such shenanigans have become unpopular in entertaining advice columns, where they are poo-pooed as fussy and prone to make your guests uncomfortable. I have a feeling though, that it's not the separate courses that make for an awkward dinner party, but the frantic host who can be heard cursing in the kitchen as she struggles to churn out the next course for her hungry guests. I've learned, though, with a little planning and chopping in advance, a dinner of several small courses makes the evening special for guest and host alike. And, anyway, who in her right mind wouldn't want her own almond tart or chocolate pot de creme?

Things I've learned about putting together a dinner menu:

- If you're doing multiple courses, keep the portions small. You don't want your guests loosening their belts under the table just so they can politely clean their plates.
- Try to vary the textures and flavors from course to course. If you're serving risotto as a first course, you probably wouldn't want to follow it with pasta.
- Think about how the food will look on the plate. Yellow beets or blood oranges brighten up salads. Herb garnishes, even just a few pinches of chopped parsley, make stews and braises look fresher. A small cup of brightly colored soup--say, carrot or asparagus--is a favorite of mine for a first course.
- Choose courses that you can either make ahead or assemble relatively quickly. I almost always make the dessert the day before the dinner. If a recipe requires more than whipping cream at the last minute, I pass it up for something else. I try to avoid choosing any recipe that will require more than 10 minutes of preparation between courses.

Once I have my menu planned, I make a shopping list. From experience, I've learned that it's a good idea to include ingredients for a few alternate recipes, marked as such, on your list. That way, if you had stuffed artichokes in mind, but find all of the specimens looking sickly, you won't have to stand in the vegetable section racking your brains for a plan B. You'll already have one. I always try to do the shopping a few days before the dinner because I'm usually not in the best mood for wielding knives right after I've fought my way out of the Whole Foods parking lot.

Things I've learned to do before guests arrive:

-Spend a few afternoon hours chopping, dicing, and slicing your ingredients. Put them into containers and refrigerate them until you need them. I use ramekins for this. If a ramekin could be considered a "kitchen gadget," it might just be the most handy gadget in my kitchen. Oven to table to freezer versatility aside, it is excellent at holding chopped ingredients.
- Read over your recipes several times, and make sure you fully understand all of the steps you'll have to complete once your guests have arrived. You don't want to have to be puzzling over some technique while trying to hold up your half of a conversation from the kitchen.
- Set the table. It will look pretty and mean one less thing you'll have to do later.
- Have the tableware you'll be needing for later courses (extra wine glasses, dessert plates, coffee cups) set out somewhere so you won't have to dig through cabinets when you need them.

When guests do arrive, I like to have a bottle of Prosecco or other sparkling wine ready to pour. Sometimes I serve munchies like olives or nuts, and sometimes I don't. It depends on how heavy the rest of the meal will be and how soon I plan to have the first course on the table. Mix bubbly, music, a few candles, and you have a recipe for dinner party success.

The most recent small gathering at our house began with gin and tonics, followed by a few glasses of a California sparkling wine, followed by a few glasses of a good Chardonnay. This is what we washed down with all the booze:

Mache and Ricotta Salata on Grilled Garlic Toasts
Adapted from Gourmet, June 2002. Makes 4 servings.


I was attracted to the sophisticated simplicity of this little salad / bruschetta hybrid. The grilled garlic toast makes a crunchy, savory foundation for the airy little pile of sour-sweet mache. I am ga-ga for the tangy flavor of ricotta salata, which is a salted cheese made from Italian sheep's milk. It's milder than feta, which it resembles in color and texture--bright white, compact, and spongy. It holds its shape when diced, so it does well in salads. Here, the ricotta is sliced thinly and layered throughout the mache.

One doesn't say this that often about salads, but this one smells as good as it tastes. When the dressing on the mache meets the heat of the bread fresh off the grill, you get this bright aroma of honey and lemon. Okay, time to move on...I'm starting to drool on my keyboard. Grow my little lettuces and tomatoes, grow!!!

juice and grated zest of 1 lemon
2 teaspoons honey
1/8 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/8 teaspoon black pepper, or to taste
1/3 cup olive oil
4 (1/2-inch-thick) slices country-style bread
1 large garlic clove
4 cups mache
1 cup grape tomatoes, halved
4 oz. ricotta salata, thinly sliced

1. Whisk together lemon juice, honey, salt, and pepper, then add 1/4 cup oil in a slow stream, whisking until emulsified.

2. Prepare charcoal or gas grill for cooking. (You could broil the bread in your oven, but you'll have to do without the smoky flavor of the grill, and that would be a shame.)

3. Brush both sides of bread slices with remaining oil and season with coarse salt and pepper.

4. When fire is hot (you can hold your hand 5 inches above rack for 1 to 2 seconds), grill bread on lightly oiled grill rack, turning once, until golden, about 3 minutes total. Immediately rub 1 side of each slice with garlic clove.

5. Toss mache with tomatoes, half the lemon zest, and enough dressing to coat, then season with salt and pepper.

6. Place toasts on salad plates. Layer salad and cheese slices alternately on each toast and spoon remaining dressing over top. Sprinkle with remaining lemon zest.



Scallops with Garlic Chips and Arugula-Mint Cream
from Francine Segan's The Philosopher's Kitchen, serves 4.


This is a dish I have made a few times, and, let me tell you folks, it is a winner. It's the sort of dish that will have you saying to yourself, why, I have been a fancy-schmancy gourmet all this time, and never knew it! In her cookbook, The Philosopher's Kitchen, Ms. Segan reinterprets recipes from ancient Greece and Rome. Such attempts at rescuing recipes from thousands of years ago often result in something interesting, and perhaps enjoyable for the food historian, but not so tasty. Ms. Segan's recipes taste very good. I have already heaped praise on her assorted fig appetizer and smoked trout custard.

The scallop was held to be an aphrodisiac in antiquity. Sure, it could have something to do with the fact that the goddess of love herself emerged from the foam of the sea. But I find the briny sweetness of scallops sort of sexy even without images of Aphrodite stepping naked onto the sand and wringing out her dripping hair. Here, creamy arugula-mint sauce and fried garlic chips pack an intense flavor wallop without overwhelming the sexy shellfish. The color of the sauce is so pretty, you'll want to paint your walls with it. In short, I haven't found a way of preparing scallops that I like more than this one.

2 cups baby arugula leaves
1 cup fresh mint leaves
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/4 cup cream
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 pound large scallops
grated zest of 1 lemon

1. Reserve one arugula leaf for garnish. Puree remaining arugula, the mint, and 3 tablespoons of the oil in a food processor until smooth. Add the cheese and blend. Simmer cream in a small saucepan over medium heat until it begins to boil. With processor running, drizzle cream into the arugula puree in a slow stream. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour into saucepan used for heating cream. Cover and keep warm while you cook the scallops.

2. In a large nonstick skillet, warm remaining 2 tablespoons oil over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and fry until golden. Transfer garlic crisps to a paper towel to drain.

3. Raise the heat to high. Pat scallops dry with a paper towel, and season with salt an pepper. Saute scallops, turning once, until golden brown around edges, but barely cooked in the center, 1-2 minutes. It is better to under cook than over cook these guys.

4. Slice the reserved arugula leaf into thin ribbons. To serve, spoon arugula puree on 4 serving plates and top with scallops. Garnish with garlic crisps, arugula ribbons, and lemon zest.


Frozen Lemon Mousse with Candied Zest
Adapted from Martha Stewart Living Annual Recipes 2002, serves 4.


This dessert takes some time to prepare, but you can do everything in advance, and the result is worth the effort ten times over. After one bite, the words, "I think this is the best dessert I've ever tasted," spilled out of the mouth of my chocolate-fanatic husband. He has a relatively short culinary memory, but still, the look of rapture in his eyes didn't lie. When used to describe mousses, the word ethereal may be trite, but if ever a mousse deserved the designation, it's this one.

I am quite fond of tart, lemon-flavored desserts, and the curd that forms the base of this mousse doesn't disappoint. Because it incorporates three different lemony components (the mouse, the sauce, and the candied zest), it proves an intense lemon experience. Cool and creamy, it would make a refreshing end to a special summer-weather dinner.

4-5 lemons (zest removed in large strips from 2 lemons and reserved for candied lemon zest recipe)
1 cup sugar
4 large egg yolks
1 large whole egg
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3/4 cup, plus 1 tablespoon heavy cream, chilled
Candied Lemon Zest (recipe follows)
4 oz. creme fraiche

1. Fill a large bowl with ice and water, set aside. Juice 1 lemon and reserve juice. Juice the additional lemons to yield 1/2 cup.

2. To make the lemon curd, place 1/2 cup lemon juice, sugar, egg yolks, whole egg, and butter in a saucepan; whisk to combine. Cook over medium heat, whisking constantly until mixture begins to boil, about 10 minutes.

3. Strain the curd through a fine sieve into a bowl set in the ice bath. Stir periodically until cool; remove from bowl of curd from the ice bath, and cover it with plastic wrap, pressing it directly onto the surface of the curd to keep a skin from forming. Refrigerate at least 1 hour and up to 3 days.

4. Place 3/4 cup chilled heavy cream in a large mixing bowl, and whisk until soft peaks form (alternatively, use hand or stand mixer). Reserve 1/3 cup of the lemon curd for the sauce; add the remaining curd to the whipped cream. Fold gently until combined.

5. Place 4 ring molds, 3 inches in diameter on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Divide the mousse among the molds. Place in freezer on the baking sheet until firm, at least 4 hours.

6. Drain the candied lemon zest, reserve the syrup. Whisk 1/3 cup syrup and the reserved 1/3 cup curd and reserved juice of 1 lemon in a small bowl. Place the frozen mousse on plates, let rest 4-5 minutes before removing the molds.

7. Meanwhile, whisk the creme fraiche and the remaining 1 tablespoon cream in a medium bowl. Spoon the lemon sauce around the mousse, and top with the creme fraiche mixture. Garnish with candied zest.

Candied Lemon Zest

2 lemons, well scrubbed (from lemon mousse recipe)
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup cool water

1. Remove the zest from lemons with a vegetable peeler, keeping the pieces long. Remove any white pith with a paring knife. Using a very sharp knife, cut zest into fine julienne; place is a small bowl and cover with boiling water. Let stand 30 minutes.

2. Place the sugar and water in a small saucepan, cover, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. When the sugar is completely dissolved, add the julienned lemon zest. reduce heat to medium-low, and cook, uncovered, for 10 minutes more. Remove from heat, cover, and let stand for at least 6 hours or overnight. Store the zest in the syrup in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Root Vegetable Rewind: It's Parsnip Weather (Again)

I suppose I am a little naive when it comes to the changing of seasons. I was convinced that Spring had arrived in Pittsburgh. I even welcomed it with a big hot bowl of pasta and chives. Heck, I was even starting to look forward to summer, revving up my ice cream machine in preparation for afternoons without air conditioning. Now I've found myself back squarely in winter, clutching root vegetables in my shivering hands ... clutching pale parsnips in my pale, shivering hands, to be precise.

At the end of a recent wet and gusty day, Patrick and I tucked into bowls of steamy, creamy parsnip soup, spoons in one hand and slices of hot no-knead bread in the other. If I weren't so eager for my herb garden to grow, this soup just may have had me asking, "Winter, won't you be staying awhile?"

There are, to my mind, three steps to good vegetable-based soups, and this recipe is no exception:

1. Roast the vegetables. Time in a hot oven evaporates some of the veggies' moisture, so that their flavors intensify. The moisture won't be missed because the vegetables are headed for step 2.

2. Simmer the vegetables in good stock. Now I am not doctrinaire about homemade stocks. There are supermarket versions out there that taste just fine. But, I do try to save up chicken carcasses, and wilty stalks of celery and carrots for rainy Sundays when I feel like stirring a warm pot every now and then. Making stock is like foodie aromatherapy. It smells good and makes you feel good too.

3. Puree. I used to get a sinking feeling in my chest every time I ran across the injunction "puree in batches in a blender." Having experienced a few spatter burns and one terrible exploding blender incident, I talked myself into thinking that pureeing soups was simply snooty. I could do without this gratuitous step ballyhooed by cookbook writers accustomed to sipping vichyssoise in stuffy, overpriced restaurants. Well, my immersion blender* changed all that. It has, I must say, snootified me. My hunch is that blending soups encourages the flavors of the various vegetables to meld more thoroughly. But, more importantly, I like the mouthfeel of blended soups. And I like to pretend I'm eating at a fancy French restaurant.


And that's just how I felt with a bowl of parsnip soup on the dinner table. You'd never guess that this soup contains a measly 1/2 cup of cream. The parsnips themselves, packed full of starch, give the soup a velvety texture. Fused with that richness, though, are flavors that won't let you forget parsnips are vegetables: the sweetness of carrots, the clean pungency of celery, and a mild peppery bite at the end.

If you're not sure whether you like parsnips, this may not be the best recipe to give them a try. This soup is packed full of parsnips and other vegetables that intensify, rather than weaken, their sweet and savory punch. This root vegetable mash, on the other hand, is a lovely way to ease into this lovely vegetable.


Parsnip Soup
Adapted from a recipe that appeared in Gourmet in December 1996. Serves 6-8.



The original recipe for this soup called for the addition of a tablespoon or so of brown sugar after it has been pureed. I have omitted the sugar here because my batch was quite sweet without it. I suppose this will depend on the sweetness of your parsnips, so do take a sip and judge for yourself whether your batch could use a spoonful of sugar.

2 pound parsnips, peeled and chopped into 2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
4 celery stalks, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 onion, coarsely chopped
2 leeks, chopped into 1-inch pieces, and soaked in cool water to remove grit
8 cups chicken stock or vegetable stock
1/2 cup cream or half and half
salt and pepper to taste
chopped scallion for garnish (optional)


1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

2. Cover a shallow baking pan with aluminum foil, toss parsnips in pan with 1 tablespoon olive oil, sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper, and roast in oven, turning occasionally for about 30 minutes.

3. In a bowl toss onion, celery, and leek with remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and add to pan. Return pan to oven and roast vegetables, stirring occasionally, 30 minutes, or until golden.

4. In a large saucepan simmer chicken broth with vegetables, covered, for about 30 minutes. Add cream (or half and half). Puree in a blender in batches. If you have an immersion blender that can handle fibrous vegetables, then, by all means, use it instead. Season soup with salt and pepper to taste.

5. Ladle soup into bowls, and garnish with chopped scallions, if you want. Serve it up.

*My immersion blender is made by Cuisinart. It is a very good one, should you ever be in the market.

Burnt Sugar and Black Salt

Yes, I have been doing things other than making ice cream. I've even been cooking things other than ice cream bases. But I'm here with another ice cream recipe, and, let me tell you, it has me wanting to kiss my ice cream maker and the person who gave it to me. As of now, the ice cream maker is 50% off at amazon.com. The gift-giver, however, is not for sale.

The first time I tasted burnt caramel ice cream was at the dinner table of Will and Leah in Massachusetts. Since then, I've scanned freezer cases all over the east coast for ice cream labels promising the flavor that haunted my taste buds. This search turned up a few decent caramel ice creams and a memorable dulche de leche, but nothing that even approached burnt caramel.

Now, those of you whose tongues have never tasted this best-of-all ice cream flavor may be saying to yourselves, "Burnt? Isn't burnt caramel ruined caramel? Don't caramel recipes always urge you to be super-vigilant so as not to let the sugar burn?" True...all true. In the spirit of truth, burnt caramel ice cream might more aptly be named slightly scorched caramel ice cream. Scorched caramel ice cream tastes like butterscotch with a curious bitter kick at the finish that lures you to have another taste. Truly burnt caramel ice cream would taste like a terrible, terrible mistake.

The margin between the former and the latter is, unfortunately, slim. But if you truly burn your caramel, you'll know it before you sacrifice any cream or eggs. At that point, all you have to do is toss it and try again, your only losses being a cup of sugar and a few tablespoons of water. I knew I was gambling with my batch when it turned in a flash from amber to brown, but I didn't want to forgo any of that scorched flavor. Five more seconds and I would have had to start over. But don't let this discourage you. I'd burn my way through a whole bag of sugar for this ice cream.

A recipe for candied bacon appeared in the same Bon Appetit issue that featured this ice cream. Burnt caramel ice cream with a side of salty-sugary pork was hard to pass up. Had I not recently pawned off batches of bacon peanut brittle (Patrick wouldn't eat it), I would have tried it. But I will...dinner guests be forewarned. I couldn't, however, eschew the temptation to add a bit more salt than the recipe specified...Kosher salt in the custard base and Black lava sea salt on top.

I've been looking for an application for this salt since I spied a bag of it in Pittsburgh Trader Joe's. With a bit of googling, I learned that this salt, harvested in Hawaii, contains black lava rock and charcoal. The crystals are large, slightly damp, and quite salty. As a finishing salt, it is often sprinkled on fish, both cooked and raw. It will definitely be making another appearance the next time I venture into tuna tartare or scallop ceviche.

Burnt Caramel Ice Cream with Hawaiian Black Lava Salt
Adapted from Bon Appetit, February 2007.
Makes 5 cups.

This ice cream is certainly rich enough to stand on its own, but it would make a lovely partner with apple pie, dark chocolate torte, or candied bacon. I've come across burnt caramel paired with lemon-flavored tarts and souffles, but have yet to try the two together.


1 cup sugar, divided
3 tablespoons water
2 cups whole milk
2 cups heavy whipping cream
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
5 large egg yolks
a few pinches of Hawaiian black lava sea salt

1. Stir 3/4 cup sugar and 3 tablespoons water in medium saucepan over medium heat until sugar melts.

2. Increase heat to medium-high and boil without stirring until mixture turns dark amber, occasionally swirling pan and brushing down sides with wet pastry brush, anywhere from 4-7 minutes. Try to avoid entering the bitterly burnt sugar stage. This stuff does burn quickly. But, don't be tempted to take the sugar off the heat too soon, or you won't get the burnt flavor that is the glory of this dish. Immediately add milk (watch out: mixture will bubble up).

3. Add cream, salt, and vanilla. Bring mixture to boil, stirring to dissolve any caramel bits. Let cool 10 minutes.

4. While you're waiting, whisk yolks and remaining 1/4 cup sugar in medium bowl. Gradually whisk in hot milk mixture. Return mixture to same saucepan. Stir over medium heat until slightly thickened, coats the back of a wooden spoon, or registers at 180 degrees F on a candy thermometer, about 6 minutes (do not boil).

5. Strain custard into medium bowl. I wouldn't skip this step. These eggy custard bases inevitably curdle in patches. The straining takes only a few seconds, and you'll be guaranteed a super-smooth ice cream for your effort. Cover with plastic wrap pressed down onto surface of custard, and chill until cold, at least 4 hours. Custard can be made 1 day ahead. Keep chilled.

6. Process custard in ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. Transfer to container; cover and freeze.

7. Sprinkle with a bit of sea salt before serving.