It was a lovely Memorial Day. We drank and reveled and ate—my god we ate—at Liz’s house. I arrived in the afternoon, about an hour after the party started, to a mostly finished cheese plate, a group of 15 or so cheery folks pontificating over music and the rise and fall and rebirth of pinball, and a managed chaos happening in the kitchen.
These days, I find the best dinner parties (or afternoon parties, for that matter), are fluid affairs where not everything is in Martha Stewart’s concept perfection. Where there are still strawberries to be chopped, corn to be cooked, cocktail mixes to be prepared from scratch. We don’t go to parties with our friends to be served flawless course after course. We go to catch up with old friends and connect with new ones. Often over a glass of sangria. Or three. (To be honest, I went for the Cabernet by Hahn Winery.) But, the food. Juicy steak and grilled salmon were served with a butter and garlic sauce that was so thick it resembled horseradish. I could have eaten it with a spoon and though the steak was delicious enough on its own to warrant second helpings, I got a second piece because I wanted a socially acceptable delivery device for the sauce.
Rounding out the meal was buttery corn, a red potato salad (perhaps only the second I’ve ever liked as I find most suffer from too much/any mayo or an overabundance of mustard), and a simple salad made from said strawberries, avocado, goat cheese, and avocado. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure we all went back for seconds.
