Anatomy of a dinner party, part three.

The best thing about having people over for dinner on New Year's? Not having to find a cab at the end of the night. The worst part? Doing dishes at 4 o'clock in the morning. No, my friends, I kid you not.

Backing it up a bit, I'll bring you up to speed on the final guest list. When Faith and Rhonda weren't able to join, we were down to four - but then my brother's old roommate (who we'd assumed would be in Boston with his girlfriend) called, and we told him to come along for the festivities. So at a healthy five, we tackled the four course dinner I'd spent most of Sunday and Monday planning, prepping, and cooking!

Before dinner, we nibbled on some old-school appetizers - Ina Garten's pan-fried onion spread (like Lipton, but ten times better), crudites with The New Basics' awesome Green Goddess dip, and Gourmet's parmesan-onion toasts.

After everyone had partaken of some snacks and at least a flute of champagne apiece, we adjourned to the table. First up, Jean-Georges' oeufs au caviar. These were, without a doubt, the big hit of the evening. While you're supposed to serve these suckers in the eggshells, I used little white bowls I use for sorbet - so sue me, I don't own egg cups and didn't have time to make it to Sur La Table. On the bottom are eggs softly scrambled in butter (with just a pinch of paprika), then freshly whipped cream spiked with vodka and lemon juice, and, finally, caviar. I used salmon roe - it was surprisingly affordable (about $10.00 for four ounces), and the color, mild flavor and juicy texture all worked really well. Plus, unlike sturgeon caviar, it's kosher!

Next, Ina Garten's roasted tomato and basil soup (with veggie stock instead of chicken). This was fantastic - easy, and a show-stopper. Great flavor, beautiful, and can be made ahead. You can also serve it cold in the summer! (Tip: I used an immersion blender instead of a food mill, and it worked perfectly well, with less fuss.)

For our main, we has the crispy polenta with wild mushroom ragout that appeared in December's Bon Appetit. This was my first experience with a Bon Appetit recipe (I received the subscription for spending $50 at Sur La Table in October), and I wasn't overly impressed. The polenta did not crisp up easily, and the suggested olive oil and butter smoked like crazy. The mushroom ragout was good, though, and I would make it again to serve over pasta or as a side dish, even.

Finally, one of my favorite recipes of all time, Jean-Georges' soft, warm chocolate cakes. Easy as brownies - you butter and flour the ramekins or molds (twice, don't skimp, trust me), pour in the batter (which has about four ingredients), and put them in the fridge till about an hour before dessert. Bring the cakes to room temp, bake for about five minutes, and boom. It's gorgeous, it's delicious, it's dessert. These were a big hit - my brother went after the spare, and I made sure to serve them with plenty of whipped cream.

Dinner was followed by a raucous round of Trivial Pursuit and after sending the last guest home around 3:30, I did a little bit of clean-up and tumbled into bed around 6 A.M. Needless to say, New Year's Day was a quiet one.

Splat!

This past weekend, Jay Rayner of the Guardian took Alain Ducasse's new restaurant, Ducasse at the Dorchester, out for a serious beating. I love a great negative restaurant review - must be something to do with the inexhaustible appeal of schadenfreude. But, come on, how can you not savor a review that contains the following quote?

"I genuinely don't have a problem with restaurants charging £75 for three courses. I just demand that it be memorable, in a losing-your-virginity way. Not memorable in an accident-with a threshing-machine way."

Anatomy of a dinner party, part two.

I love a good list. A good list is one that sets you up for easy check-off, that records accomplishment, and that keeps you organized right up to the last moment. Which is why, when I throw a dinner party, I make not one, not two, but three lists: the menu, from which all things flow, the shopping list, and the schedule.

The menu is obviously the most fun - days, sometimes weeks of brainstorming and creative fervor boiled down into the final decision. In this case, since we're going vegetarian, coming up with a main that would satisfy my meat-craving brother was my main puzzle to solve. I was paging through the December issue of Bon Appetit (which I am now receiving courtesy of a gift subscription from Sur La Table) and saw a polenta and wild mushroom ragout entree in one of their Christmas menus. Perfection! Meaty mushrooms, hearty polenta, and it doesn't require the last-minute attention that any pasta dish (other than lasagna, which lacks the desired elegance) would. Crisis averted.

Next up, the shopping list. My shopping list is organized by department (grocery, dairy, vegetables, and so on), each item noted with its anticipated provenance (typically either FreshDirect or Agata & Valentina, my two preferred shopping destinations). Anal-retentive, yes. But it also means that I'm rarely in the position of running out for ingredients at the last minute. Since I live alone (no one to send out while I keep on cooking) and in a third-floor walk-up (not isolated, but not convenient, either), it's important to have everything on hand.

Finally, the schedule. For tomorrow's New Year's celebration, I'm pretty much on task, save for a missed trip to the grocery store yesterday to pick up some vegetables and herbs. (I woke up late but couldn't skip doing my laundry, going to the dry cleaner, hitting the post office, or seeing Sweeney Todd with some friends.) I'll be headed there in a few minutes, once my FreshDirect order arrives - 11-1 was the only slot left on this very popular day.

And, finally, there are always the last-minute changes - our Rockette has had to cancel, since someone in the California show broke a leg. She's flown out to take over. We've also lost Faith from the guest list. So we're down to four. Quite intimate.

Anatomy of a dinner party, part one.

For some reason, I have offered to host a dinner party in my teeny studio on New Year's Eve. So far, the guest list includes my brother and sister-in-law, my friend Faith, a pregnant Rockette, and said Rockette's husband - and those last two keep kosher.

Right now, the menu's looking like some heavy hors d'ouevre (which will allow me to make some things containing bacon, or meat and cheese or cream, without making anyone feel left out), then a soup (gougéres served alongside), a pasta, and a salad. Followed, of course, by an appropriately festive dessert. (Any suggestions?) After all, it is New Year's Eve.

Over the next few days, I'll be posting about the dinner party process, complete with lists, schedules, and brainstorming sessions. Throwing a party is complicated under the best of conditions, but in a small Upper East Side studio with little counter space, the planning becomes even more elaborate - but it absolutely can be done, and this week we'll all watch it happen (Touch wood.)!

Ringing in the weekend.

Those who know me well know this: I am not a weekday morning person. I don't understand people who get up in the morning and run errands, go to the gym, or organize themselves in any way, shape or form before going to work.

Me, I prefer to hit the snooze button as many times as possible before shooting out of bed at the last minute, jumping in the shower, and hustling through my getting-ready routine. I do not leave time for breakfast, coffee, or stops at the post office. To all those who do: you are nutty.

That all changes on weekends, though. On weekends, my alarm wakes me with NPR, not a harsh, failsafe buzzing sound. I emerge from sleep bright-eyed, and bound toward the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee.

All week I look forward to Saturday mornings, because Saturday is the day I get to relax on the couch with a cup of coffee, reading material in hand. It's eight o'clock in the morning, and I have nowhere in particular to be, save for right here, cozy in the snug warmth of my little apartment.

I think I love the ritual of the coffee as much as I love the coffee itself. Measuring the beans, their rich, cocoa smell wafting up from the bag. Grinding the beans, letting loose a screech that reminds me, inevitably, of childhood mornings (my mother being just as much a caffeine addict as yours truly). Pouring the hot (but not quite boiling) water over the grounds in my French press pot, and, finally, pressing the plunger and pouring the first perfect cup of the morning.

During the week, I behave myself and add Splenda and skimmed milk to my coffee. But on weekends, I get organic turbinado sugar and whole milk. At work, I drink coffee from little paper cups with plastic spill-prevention tops. At home, I drink from my favorite earthenware mug, which manages to be both dainty and capacious.

Is there anything better than coffee on a weekend morning? I think not.

Kitchen Lust: Pretty aprons for pretty cooks.

Anthropologie subscribes to a French flea market aesthetic, one which dictates that no household item, no matter how mundane, shall remain un-fancified. Tea towels are flounced and fringed. Doormats are creweled. And the humble apron is turned out in toile and needlepoint.

While my tastes run a bit sleeker in most of the house, I fully embrace this idea when it comes to my kitchen: since I can't renovate it, I have to cover its seventies cabinets and fake-wood linoleum somehow. Currently, I'm obsessed with the idea of a wall rack full of their aprons, feminine, flouncy things that hug your curves while protecting your cashmere. Unabashedly girly, they're practical, too, turned out in 100% cotton and machine-washable.

After all, if you have to wear something every day, and look at it in between, don't you want it to make you smile each time it catches your eye? Plus, if your apron is this pretty, you don't have to take it off to greet your guests.

Processed foods in other countries, part two.

So, remember how I showed you pre-poached eggs from France a couple of weeks ago? Well, last week I was in England (Manchester, to be precise) for my brother's wedding.

The wedding was on Friday, so on Thursday we had a Thanksgiving-themed tea: turkey sandwiches with cranberry jelly, pumpkin pie, cranberry scones, and the like. My mom and I were put in charge of assembling the cucumber sandwiches, and I couldn't believe it when Gisela, my new sister-in-law's mum, handed me this:


Soft sandwich bread, made crustless. Amazing!!! It's billed as being perfect for those pesky, picky kids, but what it's really suited to is speedy finger sandwich construction. No crust trimming equals no torn bits of bread, and no ruined sandwiches.

Cheers, you crafty Brits.