Dinner for Four
B and I had penciled in a date six weeks ago, running through the weekends until we found one that was clear for all of us. We would "get together," leaving the details to be worked out later, or perhaps not wanting to waste time making plans that would probably be canceled. I think that we were all amazed that the date was still free when we got to it. If it had fallen a week earlier, I don't know what we'd have done, but it certainly wouldn't have been dinner here, with me cooking.
Already on Thursday, however, I felt up to it, and a workable menu presented itself. I shopped on Friday, before I'd even had confirmation that B and R (B's wife and Kathleen's schoolmate) would be able to come. I took it easy on Saturday until around five o'clock. At six, I called B and asked for an extra half-hour - seven-thirty instead of seven. That was no problem, and it gave me a luxurious cushion of time that I didn't really need. The dinner came off without a hitch. No, there was one hitch. While preparing the main course, I moved the bakery box containing a lemon tart off the stove, and it took a while to find out where I'd put it. I'd put it in a perfectly reasonable place, or in other words the last place I looked.
Well, now you know about dessert: I bought it. I didn't want to press my resources too far. On a perfect evening, I'd have served a chocolate soufflé with a raspberry coulis. Next time.
It was the main dish that persuaded me that I could pull off a dinner party. It could not be prepared in advance, so I would need two courses beforehand, so that the fifteen-minute wait wouldn't be annoying. (It was probably a longer wait than that, but by then B, R, and Kathleen were all laughing over stories.) The two starters, moreover, could be prepared in advance. The first was what I call "Bistro Borscht," because it's very fast and very lively. You take anywhere from three to five roast beets, depending on their size, and blend them with a can of chicken broth, a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, and a teaspoon of sugar. Pour the soup into an old mayonnaise bottle and refrigerate it. Not for cold nights! The second course was something that I'd just discovered in The Joy of Cooking. What to do with a very mixed bunch of asparagus - some fat, some thin? They were either too thick to steam or too little to peel. So I roasted them. Lay out the asparagus in a large roasting pan, drizzle and coat them with olive oil, and pop them in a five-hundred degree oven for seven to ten minutes. Make sure that they're cooked! Then let them come to room temperature. At serving time, squirt the juice of a lemon over them and dust them with Parmesan.
Now for the main course: Tournedos au Roquefort. My recipe comes from Michael Roberts's Parisian Home Cooking (Morrow, 1999). This may very well be the one cookbook that I would keep if I could have only one, and for a very simple reason: my circumstances are rather Parisian. I have a tiny kitchen, I live in a city full of great restaurants, I entertain good friends only, and I can get my hands on really good ingredients. Lavish, impressive dishes are not for me, or at any rate not as much as they used to be.
Get your sauté pan good and hot. Brush the steaks with olive oil and sear them in the pan, seasoning them with salt and pepper. After three minutes, turn the steaks over for another four, seasoning some more. Transfer the steaks to a plate and slip them into a warm oven.
Reduce the heat to medium and add a quarter cup of wine, to deglaze the pan - scraping up all the brown bits. Add chicken stock and heavy cream, a quarter cup of each, to the pan and cook the sauce down until the bubbles grow and thicken. Stir in a quarter cup of crumbled cheese. For a wonderfully silky sauce, purée it with an immersion blender right in the pan. Plate the steaks, pouring any remaining juices into the sauce, and ladle the sauce around or atop them as you prefer, and sprinkle them with parsley.
Serve with frites, as I did. Or with a good bread.
This sounds like a production, but it was all very relaxed. I've made the tournedos twenty times at least, and that's of course a key. Dinner parties, perversely, are no time for trying out new recipes, not if you plan on enjoying yourself with your guests. This is why I am always on the point of canceling my subscription to Gourmet. I could never whip up one of those elaborate menus for six or eight without focusing entirely upon the kitchen, and I've never been to a dinner at which such a stunt was attempted with complete success. You must cook what you know and leave the creativity to the restaurateurs. I love Paris.
My reward was most unexpected. As she was leaving, R offered me a pair of tickets to tonight's performance of Cyrano de Bergerac at the Met!
Comments
MMMM. You are making my mouth water. Sounds like a lovely evening. I'm so happy you were up for cooking, took such pleasure in it and enjoyed yourself thoroughly.
Posted by: Ms. NOLA | May 17, 2005 10:48 AM
Dont' get me started! Here's a very evil little trick for roasted asparagus: Drizzle a teaspoon of honey, or sprinkle a little brown sugar with a pinch of salt. It makes a brown carmelized glaze that's not quite sweet but masquerades as the natural sugars in the asparagus (this works with carrots and parsnips, too.) I'd write more, but I just salivated all over my keyboard.
Posted by: Susan | May 17, 2005 12:16 PM