Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday Supper: The First in a Sometimes Series
It's been my opinion for some time now that Sunday dinner should be Something, not any ole slab on a plate, but an attempt to tap the kitchen muse while pumping up your friendship muscles. Usually, I host, but this week The Chef invited us to his home kitchen where he immediately put us all to work in that jocular bossy way that makes him so endearing.
The Ranger pounded the pork while I tossed the salad and then the Spatzle, a kind of German/Elfin food that was no easy trick. Despite my careful hand in releasing those little rascals into boiling water they rarely took on an appetizing shape. Mine looked more like nose drivel. But there's nothing that sauteing in browned butter can't solve so Poof to that.
The Wine Guy showed up to hand grind the pepper (now that's fussy), set the table and pour the magic. First a Cava and then a Sonoma Valley Zin that always makes my heart skip and my mouth open wide.
On the drive home, the Ranger lamented, "Honey, you really shouldn't eat your pot de creme like that. Not in front of other people anyway."
"You know. With your finger. I couldn't...um, focus."
Now that's how every Sunday should end. When puddin' becomes lovin'.