I seldom invite guests for dinner without making at least one dish that I've never cooked before. This goes against all conventional wisdom which says that you should prepare favorite recipes for your guests--implying that you've eaten the dish at least once before company knocks at the door.
My way of looking at dinner parties is a bit skewed: I tend toward the Thelma and Louise approach of taking a great leap and letting the landing take care of itself. Since I'm not the type to drive cars off cliffs or parachute out of airplanes, I suppose this small quirk gives me a shot of adrenaline seldom found in those tried and true recipes. Over the years, I've used this approach with mostly successful results, primarily because I read recipes like I read novels. I taste every ingredient as my eyes run down the list. The rising action begins with the first step, and becomes more intense as I make my way toward the final "Bake at ..." or "Serve with ..." instruction. By the time everyone is seated at the table and ready to take their first bites, I am holding my breath, waiting to see if the story is going to have a happy ending. Usually it does, or something fairly close to one, but if it doesn't, I'm the first to say, "Have more cheese, bread, and wine. A toast to happy endings!"
This weekend I had the pleasure of preparing a meal for two very dear friends, and since they were so close to me, I knew I could really do some experimentation on them. I thought about what might be simple and satisfying and delicious, and came up with pasta, sauteed chard and spinach, and French bread. My friends were bringing dessert, and there really wasn't a need for salad. Simple, satisfying, and delicious. The menu fit the bill.
Now, when I say simple, I am not necessarily talking about difficulty of preparation. Synonyms for simple in my dictionary would be comforting; with an aura of ease. Those synonyms, however, have nothing to do with the time and effort I am willing to devote to a dish that will be served to dear friends. And for this dinner party, I decided on pumpkin ravioli as the pasta dish. Comforting, definitely; with an aura of ease, mostly.
It was time to get out my favorite Italian cookbooks and my pasta maker. Italian cookery is so beautifully frugal and delicious, it is the ultimate comfort food as well as the perfect food to serve guests. I decided to combine some ideas I found in ravioli recipes with a variety of fillings: squash, pumpkin, and sweet potato. I used a lovely Musquee de Provence pumpkin that I had had since Thanksgiving, along with spices and seasonings, for the filling (recipe will soon be added to the Cooking page). Although the book said the recipe would serve six, one three-egg batch of pasta did not provide enough of a comfort zone for quantity, so I made two. This decision proved to be the right one--as you might imagine, there was quite a learning curve in making a presentable ravioli.
The meal was lovely--delicious food and wonderful company. I do believe that both food and company have a synergism that serves to improve both. Ordinary food can become the most memorable meal because of the people with whom you are sharing it. The pasta bowl was served with a bed of chard and spinach under the pumpkin ravioli that had first been tossed with butter and grated Parmesan. On the table was a loaf of crusty whole wheat French bread and a bottle of Merlot. And for dessert, peach pie with coffee. Life is good!
We lingered over dinner; we talked on for hours. We toasted the Egyptians who gave the world a beautiful example of how governments can be made answerable to the people, and we made every attempt to find answers to all of the social problems that thoughtful people everywhere are trying to solve. The evening drew to a close around one o'clock in the morning, and we bid our guests good-night with hugs and be careful admonishments.
Harvey and I were beginning to pick up plates and wine glasses when we heard a light tapping at the door. Our guests were back. Their car had a flat tire, and they came seeking advice from Harvey and me about what they should do. The answer was simple. None of us had a clue about how to change a tire; it was one o'clock in the morning; all of us were tired; we would all go to bed, and like Scarlet O'Hara, we would think about it in the morning. And so we did.
In the morning, we called a garage and had a person who knew what the four of us did not know come over and change the tire. Now, what's wrong with this picture? I love a challenge--I make ravioli; I make bread; there is nothing I will not try in the kitchen. Yet I cannot do the most basic thing that all drivers should be able to do. Tomorrow there will be no breakfast until I go out and find out where the jack is hidden. Then I'm going to change a tire!
