Amalgamato: 2018

There's no doubt I like to be in a kitchen. Not just now, but since growing up in a household with nearly a kitchen staff. None of them hired, yet they couldn't have taken their responsibilities more seriously if they had been. The staff consisted of my mother, her two single sisters and my Nonna who presided over the kitchen with all the seriousness of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

More than my siblings I loved to be in the kitchen getting into the mix. Stirring huge pots from atop a chair my aunts would have pulled up for me. Braiding cookies for dunking into espresso. Or, simply rolling out some bread dough for Sicilian sausage rolls [binulati]. There's a scar on my right foot from when at age four or five in Italy, I grabbed hold of a pan with simmering hot goat's milk for our breakfast of pane, latte e caffè [bread, milk and and coffee] an Italian breakfast still found on restaurant and hotel menus in Italy. This would be my first learning experience in the kitchen. It wouldn't be my last.

And, that's where my story begins. At this point in my life, I am a confident cook. Well, until last Wednesday evening, I had every confidence. But, alas the kitchen has the ability to humble even the most sought after chefs let alone a cook. However proficient she might imagine herself to be. You can never know everything about cooking, or the secrets of how to pull together a perfect meal. No matter how many times you have previously accomplished them. Showtime is showtime. You have to prove yourself again and again.

Last Wednesday we invited a few friends over and never in a million years would I have ever guessed what could and did go wrong. The evening was the coming together of two situations. One where a young friend of mine wanted to learn how to make my peas, mushrooms + prosciutto pasta and the other stemmed from a heartfelt desire to have some dear friends over to repay them for their previous gracious hospitality. We were to be eight for dinner.

One of the many lessons of the evening. Make sure to start out strong appetizer/antipasti course and have a good dessert on hand because all hell may break out once the company arrives.

You know you're in trouble when the simplest things are challenging. The two boxes of orecchiette I tried to get in one bowl to pour into the boiling pan of water went all over. But no worries two pounds was too much for eight. Another lesson always best to have more pasta on hand than one might need.

Then, I asked Keith [who was in the weeds making Negroni's for four] to turn on the burner for the pasta. Fail! I never put any water in the covered pan. We would have made the 11pm news if I hadn't checked expecting to see boiling water.

The evening proceeded in this way. I couldn't be relied upon to stir the pan of sautéing peas, scallions, prosciutto and mushrooms. All went flying in every direction. It was unseemly. I went out of my way to get a specific brand of prosciotto cotto con rosmarino at Gallucci's only to have it add a saltiness that was less than desirable. Thankfully, no one was getting blood work the next day.

Frustrated also by the intermittent crunch underfoot from another orecchiette that escaped my brooms notice when I attempted clean-up.

Clearly, someone had put a hex or spell on my kitchen that night. Still nothing could have prepared me for the near disaster that lay in wait. The time had come to get the baked cod with caramelized onions and cherry tomatoes-baccala al forno into the oven. First, let me tell you about the aroma in my house that afternoon as I caramelized the onions in a white wine and butter reduction. This course would be redemption.

Little did I know, there had been some reassembling of space in my refrigerator and my tray of secondi was now precariously resting atop some chilling wines and Champagne bottles. As I open the refrigerator door, the entire baking sheet with two premium whole fillets of panko encrusted cod siting atop perfectly caramelized onions, adorned with grape tomatoes parsley and lemon zest went sliding out of the refrigerator shelf and onto the floor. Had it not been for my young guest [experienced service industry pro] who swooped down from across the room to catch the tray and lift the parchment lined fish narrowly averting complete disaster. I've no idea who we would have called for carry-out. We did lose some tomatoes in the process but we still somehow had a secondi course.

As I served the fish, in a state of disbelief and shock [possibly PTSD] from the evening's proceedings. I knew this would be a memorable meal. Not for its culinary success but as a bonding experience among friends. We'll laugh about the lack water in a pan that might have exploded, the utter lack of cooperation from the orrechiete, the peas and mushrooms who wouldn't stay in the pan and the fish that wasn't done swimming for some time to come.

Throughout the night I would notice my husband and guests enjoying the evening. And, seriously what else matters. A successful evening depends more than on the sum of the parts. Much depends on the quality of your guests. Mine were complimentary, polite and overwhelmingly generous bringing us the finest wine an Amarone [on hold for our next gathering], filetto di chingale [brought back from Tuscany on a recent trip] and the loveliest floral bouquets. Ever grateful to my young friend who not only saved the cod but was everywhere that evening; serving, clearing, helping. She didn't leave until she washed all of the larger serving platters which were nearly half her weight. Not that mean people have a place at our table, but still. How wonderful to know such kind and generous people. As I looked over my photos from the evening I noticed there aren't any of the primi or secondi course. Highly unusual! But, then, so was the entire night. Made more memorable by some unusual occurrences and good friends.