let’s do dinner

on the magic of dinner parties + recipes from yours truly

“There is nothing more exciting than a room full of people,” was a line I first heard on Fleabag. It’s true, of course, but I’ve always gone one step closer: there is nothing more exciting than a full table at dinner. Dinner parties, restaurant dinners, casual mid-summer dinners, cozy winter dinners— the possibilities are endless. Breakfasts can be fun with the right hangover, lunches have always been a pain, but dinners are where the magic happens.

I read André Aciman’s Enigma Variations in high school, an instant favorite, and would reread the passages where Aciman painted such vivid pictures of lavish dinner parties in Manhattan, the tables full of odd characters, old love triangles, the occasional heated debate. At the time I was desperate for any snippet of adult life that I could see myself wanting. And there it was: a table of my own, brie and fig jam appetizers with passaladière pasta, and a table full of the eclectic characters I’d accumulated. The obsession had only just begun.

Dinner at 6:30pm on a Friday night is perfect, no matter where it is. I love the build up, the outfit choosing, the excitement to see each other, the first cocktail that goes straight to the bloodstream, setting your jacket down on the back of the chair, the food. “Let’s do dinner this Friday,” is music to my ears, especially the way it’s phrased. Let’s do dinner, because we all know dinner plans are far more than just the meal.

And yes, I know it’s all about the food in some ways, too. The calamari shared by the table, a basket of fries, side salads drenched in caesar with anchovies littered over top, rich chocolate mousse afterwards, the dishes you could never make yourself. The food is the thread that ties it all together, brings people to the table, but it is the social dynamics that provide the entertainment.

I’ve been to dinners that end in friendships lost, dinners that are disastrous, dinners that get remarked on for months to come; “Do you remember that night…” I like to watch people meet for the first time— I am a surveyor and a voyeur at the dinner table. Let’s see how he reacts to that comment, they’re awfully rude to the waiter, when did she stop eating dairy, don’t look now but that couple in the booth is breaking up, that soup looks divine. This is what I love about a dinner: it’s pure, distilled human interaction on full display.

Oh, of course I love the family dinner, the Tuesday night dinner, the casual one where people come over and bring something to set down on the tablecloth. Those are beautiful in their own way. There’s an intimacy in cooking for people you cherish, adding extra garlic because you know they like it. Having someone ask if you’d be willing to make that one dish again that everyone scarfed the last time: that’s true joy.

I like watching the way people share food, if they hand over their spoon, tip the soup into the other person’s mouth, or maybe they just push their plate over. How much that says about someone is staggering to me. I’m delighted when a friend who’s new in my life says, “Here, try some.” If they arrange a perfect bite for you and hand it over, that’s a declaration of love.

And this is not to mention the actual cooking of the food when you’re having people over for dinner. Making sure to prep everything before hand so you don’t accidentally get overwhelmed. But really what you’re doing is preparing the dance. You’re stretching your limbs, rolling the shoulders, running through the choreography in your head. Ok, the chicken needs to go in the pan before I start sautéing the aromatics, and I should grate some parmesan, oh and I can’t forget the garnish. God forbid you have company over when the meat starts burning because you didn’t have the vegetables pre-chopped. The things we do for the people we love.

At the end of the night, when your stomach is past full, you might be a bit drunk, the sweater you brought in case it got cold has been thrown on— this is the best part. The final spin at the ballet. The lingering at the doorway or outside the restaurant. Trying to finish the last dregs of the conversation. Lingering means not wanting to say goodbye. Or maybe, if the night was dramatic and tensions were high, you’re practically running out the door. Maybe you’re with people who hug, maybe not. I hope every dinner ends with a prolonged goodbye, one foot still inside the door before saying “oh okay, okay, I’m going now, for real this time.” This is it, you know, this is the great meaning of life— the reason we’re all here: to share food, to sit around a dinner table for far too long, to hug each other goodbye.

recent dinners of mine <3

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Evie’s Sundried Tomato Orzo

1/2 cup pancetta

1 cup sundried tomatoes, julianned

3+ cloves of garlic (no less then 3 but no more than 8), finely chopped

1 shallot, finely chopped

1 white onion, finely chopped

1 cup spinach

2 cups orzo pasta

1 carton of chicken or vegetable stock

1/2 cup Parmesan, or as much as you feel fit

1. Brown the pancetta in butter or a drizzle of olive oil, then set aside.

2. In the same pan, sauté garlic and shallots over medium heat, add in the onions after 2-3 minutes.

3. Once onions are translucent, add in the sundried tomatoes for another 3 minutes.

4. Add in the orzo, toasting gently for a minute or so before pouring in the first cup of stock.

5. Stir in stock a cup at a time, like you’re making risotto.

6. When you only have a 1/2 cup of stock left, take off the heat and stir in the parmesan, spinach, and last of the broth.

7. Serve with the crispy pancetta, a drizzle of olive oil, and a sprinkle of parmesan.

As a side or appetizer:

Evie’s Balsamic and Brown Sugar Roasted Brussels Sprouts

1 lb of brussels sprouts

1 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp balsamic glaze

1. Preheat your oven to 425°F.

2. When oven is warming, wash and cut the Brussels sprouts in half, toss with drizzles of olive oil, salt and pepper, half of your brown sugar, and spread on a baking sheet. Roast 20 to 30 minutes or until tender and golden brown around the edges. The exact timing will depend on the size of your sprouts, and how crispy you like them.

3. Remove brussels spouts and let cool to just above room temperature before tossing with the balsamic and remaining brown sugar.

4. Serve in a bowl, and thank me later.

I never measure things out when I cook, so feel free to change the measurements. And don’t blame me if something is too salty— I like my food so savory it makes your mouth water.