Dinner: A Love Story

by Jenny Rosenstrach

  “I never met her before! And anyway, what does it matter?” he asked.

  “Well, for starters, I wouldn’t have worn this dumpy ribbed turtleneck that I bought my senior year of high school.” My hair was unbrushed and there wasn’t a whole lot of thought directed toward accessories that morning before I rushed off to work nine hours earlier. There might have been a jumper involved, too. I don’t know, it was the decade of the Donna Karan bodysuit—not that that is much of an excuse—but I’ve tried to block this part out. The general recollection thirteen years later, though, is that I somehow missed an opportunity to put my best, coolest foot forward with this woman whom I wanted to be my friend in a way that probably wasn’t so appropriate for a person technically categorized as a “grown-up.”

  Michelle was too nice to hold my outfit against me. Too nice, in fact, to have even noticed how decidedly unfashionable I was. It turned out we had so much in common. She was from a nice Jewish family and was raised “like fine China” (as Bill once said), just like me. She played tennis just like me. And, best of all, she not only loved to cook, but she was a talented cook with amazing taste and an even better aesthetic. (She seemed to be serving everything on simple, sculptural white plates way before Donna Hay and Real Simple were.) Andy and Bill got along well, too, and so we all seized on the rare couple friendship where everyone liked each other. I had such a crush on Michelle. To the point where Laurie had to take me aside one afternoon during the honeymoon phase of my new friendship and ask, “Do you think you could stop talking about Michelle all the time when you are spending the day with me?”

  In my dinner diary, Michelle and Bill are penned in almost every weekend between May 2000 and August 2003, including once when they drove to meet us on vacation in South Carolina carrying a 1993 Château d’Yquem. (“We brought you something extraordinary,” she announced when she entered the house.) If I made something delicious for Andy, then we’d both say at the same time, “We have to make this for Michelle and Bill!” I remember eating a chilled pea soup amuse-bouche at Bouley Bakery and thinking how much Michelle and Bill would appreciate an amuse-bouche at our house! I agonized over menus when they’d come over, mixing up lichee martinis and experimenting with weird Syrian spice mixtures from Brooklyn’s Atlantic Avenue. They cared about fresh, good food in a way I had never seen before, and more important they were fabulous guests and friends.

  But I liked going to their house more. The perfect tennis opponent for me was always someone who could crush me—and Michelle was the equivalent in the kitchen. She could cook her ass off and was an endless source of inspiring recipes, which I would steal and pass off as my own to other friends. I can’t think of one time I’ve been to her house and haven’t learned something about cooking or tasted something that I wanted to replicate in my own house for other twice-removed guests who could never trace the provenance of the dish. For a while there, I wondered if my crush on her was affecting the way I tasted my food. (You know? Kind of like that New Yorker phenomenon where you assume the writing is good and smart just by virtue of the fact that it is in the New Yorker?) But then I’d cook her meal and receive the same ooohs and ahhs that I’d dish out when she cooked it for me. So yes, it was the food in its own right that was special—not just that it was cooked for me by this special person with sparkly eyes who to this day is still a great friend. But actually, I’m not sure why it even matters.

  Greek-Style Shrimp with Feta

  The key to this dish is to buy prepeeled shrimp–which significantly cuts back on your hands-on time–and to remember a rule that actually applies to any recipe: You are rarely going to regret using more cheese than called for. Total time: 30 minutes

  2 garlic cloves, minced

  3 tablespoons olive oil

  1 28-ounce can tomatoes, drained (very important)

  1 pound shrimp, peeled

  4 to 6 ounces crumbled feta (a little less than 1 cup)

  2 sprigs fresh parsley, chopped

  Juice from ½ lemon (about 2 tablespoons)

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Preheat the oven to 425°F.

  Sauté the garlic in the oil in an ovenproof skillet set over medium heat for 1 minute. (Do not let the garlic burn.) Add the tomatoes, lower the heat slightly, and stir, breaking up the tomatoes with a wooden spoon or kitchen scissors if you have them. Cook for 5 minutes. Nestle in the shrimp, toss around a little, turn heat back to medium, and cook until the shrimp starts to turn pink all over, about 2 minutes. Sprinkle the feta on top and place the skillet in the oven. Bake for 5 minutes, or until cheese is melty. Remove from the oven and add the parsley, lemon juice, and salt and pepper. Serve with white rice or crusty bread.

  Bourbon-Marinated Grilled Pork Tenderloin

  In the summer, we serve this with grilled peaches (recipe follows). During colder months, it’s delicious pan-roasted with a few firm apple slices that have been sautéed and browned in butter. Total time: 2 hours 25 minutes (includes 2 hours hands-off marinating time)

  ¼ cup bourbon

  ¼ cup soy sauce

  2 tablespoons brown sugar

  3 tablespoons olive oil

  2-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped

  1 pork tenderloin (about 1 pound)

  In a large zipper-lock bag, combine the bourbon, soy sauce, sugar, oil, and ginger. Add the pork and marinate for at least 2 hours and up to 4. When you are ready to grill, remove the tenderloin from the bag, reserving the marinade, and grill it over medium-hot coals for 15 to 20 minutes, turning every 5 minutes, until the middle is firm but not hard to the touch. (A meat thermometer should read 140°F.) Add the marinade to a small saucepan and bring to a boil; boil until it becomes slightly thickened, about 2 minutes. Slice the pork on a cutting board and transfer to a platter, spooning the sauce over the top.

  Alternatively, you could pan-roast the pork. Marinate as directed, but instead of preparing the grill, preheat your oven to 425°F. Set an ovenproof pan fitted with a lid (like a small Dutch oven) over medium-high heat. Add a few tablespoons of oil to the pan. Remove the pork from the bag (allowing excess marinade to drip off), reserve the marinade, and brown the loin on all sides, about 8 minutes total. Cover and transfer the pot to the oven and roast for another 12 to 15 minutes, until the thickest part of the loin registers 140°F on a meat thermometer. Remove the loin from the pot, slice, and transfer to a platter. In the same pot, add the reserved marinade and bring it to a boil; boil until it becomes slightly thickened, about 2 minutes. Spoon the sauce over the top of the pork slices.

  Grilled Peaches

  Total time: 5 to 10 minutes

  Halve 3 to 4 juicy unpeeled peaches. On the flesh side brush on either melted butter or canola oil and a sprinkling of brown sugar. Grill the peaches for 5 minutes, turning frequently so they don’t burn.

  Alternatively, you can broil the peaches. Prepare as directed above and then place the peach halves on a cookie sheet flesh side up; broil for 10 minutes, or until they are golden and shrively. Cut the peaches into wedges, if desired, and serve.

  Mexican Chocolate Icebox Cookies

  These cookies are adapted from a Maida Heatter recipe. I love watching people eat them for the first time because it takes a second or two for the heat to kick in, and when it does, the eater is totally delighted–if slightly confused. Michelle used to serve them warm with cinnamon ice cream. Insane. Makes about 4 dozen cookies Total time: 2 hours 35 minutes (includes 2-hour chill time)

  1½ cups all-purpose flour

  ¾ cup cocoa powder

  ¾ teaspoon cinnamon

  ¼ teaspoon cayenne

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

  12 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature

  1 cup sugar

  1½ teaspoons vanilla extract

  1 egg

  Sift together the flour, cocoa powder, cinnamon, cayenne, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl.

  In a large bowl, cream
together the butter and sugar. Beat in the vanilla and egg.

  Using your mixer, gradually add the dry mixture to the butter mixture until dough is uniform in color and no unmixed flour remains. Using lightly floured hands, divide the dough into two pieces and shape each half into a log (about 8 inches long). Wrap tightly in wax paper or plastic wrap and freeze inside two tall drinking glasses on their sides (so cookie dough doesn’t flatten on one side) for a minimum of 2 hours and up to 6 weeks.

  When ready to use, preheat the oven to 375°F. Slice the frozen dough in rounds (about ¼ inch thick), place in baking sheets, and bake for 8 to 10 minutes. The cookies are ready when they feel a bit firm at the edges. Monitor them closely because the cookie’s dark color makes it hard to detect when they’re burning. Store in an airtight container when cool.

  December 2000

  Back-Pocket Recipes

  When I was little, I had a ballet teacher who forbade me to take jazz until a certain age. All I wanted in the world was to buy a pair of those cool Capezio shoes and leg warmers (and maybe even wear them to school with my belted neon yellow sweatshirt), but she was adamant: You cannot learn how to riff off classic movement until you have a solid grasp of what the fundamentals of classic movement are in the first place. I think about this all the time when I write on my blog about “Back Pocket” dinners—basic dishes you can pull out of your back pocket without consulting a recipe—the kinds of meals I was discovering in these early days, which could teach me not just a recipe but a foundational technique. For me, this means risottos, stir-fries, omelets, rice and beans, marinara, simple pasta dishes with cheese and vegetables. They are not the kinds of dishes you will find in a David Chang cookbook because that is not the point. The point is that they are building blocks. Once you learn the fundamental rules of browning meat or stirring risotto, you will be in the position of knowing how to break those rules, having fun, and making something your own.

  Back-Pocket Risotto

  Total time: 40 minutes

  Add 3 tablespoons olive oil and 1 tablespoon butter to a medium saucepan set over medium heat. Add ½ small chopped onion, season with salt and pepper, and cook until the onion is softened, about 2 minutes.

  Add 1½ cups Arborio rice to pan and stir until each grain is covered with oil. In a second smaller saucepan or a microwave, heat 2½ cups milk (any kind—whole, skim, low-fat) with 2½ cups chicken broth until warm but not boiling.

  Add 1/3 cup of your hot liquid to the rice, stir, and simmer until all liquid is absorbed, about 3 minutes. Keep repeating until all the liquid has been absorbed and the rice is cooked through but still firm, about 30 minutes. (You don’t have to stir constantly, but I find it’s helpful to never be too far away from the stove when you are making risotto.)

  Remove from the heat and stir in ½ cup grated Parmesan cheese and another tablespoon of butter.

  Riff

  Add ½ pound cooked Italian sausage or cooked bacon crumbles and a handful of frozen peas to the pot once the risotto has cooked through.

  Back-Pocket Tacos

  Total time: 50 minutes

  In a small Dutch oven or a medium, straight-sided pot, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium-high heat. Add 1¼ pounds boneless chicken breasts (which have been salted and peppered) and brown all over (about 3 minutes a side; the chicken does not have to cook through). Remove from pot.

  To the same pot, add ½ chopped onion, 1 minced garlic clove, a dash of red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper. Cook until the onion is soft, about 3 minutes. Add one 15-ounce can diced tomatoes, 1 tablespoon chili powder, 1 dried red chili, 1 bay leaf, and a few hefty shakes of dried oregano. Stir to combine and add the chicken back to the pot, nestling the breasts in the liquid. Bring to a boil and then lower the heat, cover the pot, and simmer for 25 minutes.

  While the chicken simmers, prepare small bowls of toppings: avocado chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, corn off the cob, cilantro, lime wedges, sour cream. Warm 4 to 6 8-inch whole wheat tortillas (wrapped in foil) in a 350°F oven.

  Once the chicken has cooked, remove it from the pot, and using two forks, shred it into pieces on a cutting board. (There is no art to this; in fact, the less artfully done, the better.) Add the shreds back to the sauce, stir everything together, then stuff into the tortillas. Add the desired toppings.

  Riff

  Replace the chicken with a pork tenderloin that has been cut into three or four pieces.

  Back-Pocket Pasta with Herbs and Bread Crumbs

  Total time: 35 minutes

  Cook 1 pound pasta in water that has been sprinkled with a generous amount of salt. While the pasta is cooking, add 3 tablespoons olive oil to a large skillet set over medium heat. Cook 2 minced garlic cloves and ½ large chopped onion until soft. Drain the pasta, reserving 1 cup of the pasta water scooped out with a coffee mug or heatproof measuring cup.

  Add about ¼ cup of the pasta water to the skillet and swirl with the onions and oil until it has emulsified and looks silky.

  Add the pasta to the skillet and toss it until every piece is shiny with oil. Dump into a large pasta bowl and stir in ¾ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese. (You may need to add more pasta water if it still appears too stiff.)

  To the hot skillet, add ½ cup bread crumbs and fry until brown and toasty, about 1 minute. Add to the pasta along with a handful of chopped herbs, such as fresh parsley, oregano, and thyme.

  Riff

  Toss in any of the following roasted vegetables with the bread crumbs: cauliflower, butternut squash, brussels sprouts, or broccoli. Or, omit the bread crumbs and just toss in 4 to 5 chopped fresh summer tomatoes. Extra Parm and few zests of lemon won’t hurt either.

  April 2001

  Undercover

  Quite often during this period of our lives, if you didn’t find me at my dinner table by seven o’clock, you might have found me hiding in a bathroom stall of a restaurant, scribbling notes about the overcooked duck breast I had just been served. I wasn’t doing this for my diary’s sake—by some miracle, I knew someone who knew someone who knew someone named Jim, who ran a restaurant consulting business. Jim sent Andy and me undercover to eat for free in various restaurants around New York (which, as my contract stipulated, shall go unnamed), and all I had to do in return was deliver a QAR (quality assurance report) that deconstructed everything from whether the host smiled at me when I walked in the door, to whether the bartender upsold me on the gin in my gin and tonic, to whether the three-course meal plus wine (jackpot!) was something I’d come back for another time. This last part was hard for me, as I’d pretty much come back for any meal if (a) someone else was making it for me, (b) someone else was doing dishes, and (c) it was free!

  For these dinners we were undercover in more ways than one. Most of the places we reviewed you might call high end (at least when you compared them to the places we could afford) and located in the kinds of neighborhoods in New York where you can’t help but ask yourself, “Who lives here?” (Only answers we could come up with: an Icahn or a Radziwell?) We often felt like impostors, as though we were playing grown-up in a pretend world filled with grown-up things like white linen, fifty-dollar bottles of Rioja (I remember pronouncing it with the j sound in my head the first time I drank a glass), and a palate-cleanser course that was almost always a cold melon soup. I might have been imagining this, but it felt like everywhere we went, the waitstaff and even some of the patrons would cock their heads to the side when they saw us as if to say, Awwww, look at the kids having their engagement dinner. Because why else would we be in a place like that if we weren’t celebrating something big? What twenty-six-year-old goes to a three–or four-star restaurant on a Tuesday night just for the hell of it? None that I knew anyway.

  The thing is, Andy and I have always excelled at celebrating. Particularly celebrating in a restaurant. It was a quality I admired in him right from the beginning. I’ll never forget when we were first dating in college and he took me out for a birthday dinner at the nicest restaurant in town
even though I would’ve been 100 percent happy with moo shu pork and dumplings at the Chinese take-out place. (I’ll also never forget when he picked me up for that dinner and asked, “Is that what you’re going to wear?” while staring at my Levi’s with two huge holes ripped in the knees.)

  But we didn’t just celebrate big moments like birthdays and anniversaries. We made a point to celebrate the small to medium-size moments as well: getting a job offer, getting a raise, completing the GMAT, getting a good magazine assignment, or my favorite reason of all, simply making it through the week. As Andy would say, if you didn’t do that every now and then, “What was the point?” (I have also long admired my husband’s existential angst.)

  These end-of-the-week meals—meals that we were paying for ourselves— were the opposite of the white-linen kind. They took place in restaurants we’d discover by poring over the numbers and rankings in our tattered, well-loved Zagat guide (Tartine in the West Village, Sagapo in Astoria, Elephant in the East Village; any Middle Eastern cafe on Atlantic Avenue); the kind of places where you’d sometimes have to shield your eyes if you found yourself walking by the kitchen, because you just didn’t want to know what was going on in there (Hello, Chinatown!); the kind of places that we’d get ridiculously sentimental about ten or twelve years down the road when we had two kids, had more than earned the title Grown-up, and all we wanted to do was pretend we were twenty-six again.

  Lamb Kibbeh with Mint-Yogurt Sauce

  I think this may have been Andy’s first stab at recipe developing. It was inspired by the kibbeh we’d eat on Brooklyn’s Atlantic Avenue, an area famous for Middle Eastern food and culture. If you can’t find bulgur, you can use quinoa. Total time: 45 minutes