How to Host a Dinner Party (10 page)

As they come in sizes roughly equal to 1, 2, or 4 cups (250 mL, 500 mL, or 1 L), they’re good for estimating amounts as well. When I’m prepping for dinner, rather than a mess of bowls, each filled with a little garlic, onion, or parsley, the 1 cup (250 mL) containers allow me to keep all my prep separate, all the ingredients for one dish piled in a neat column.

I could tell you to do as many things simultaneously as possible or I could caution you against doing too much at once. Both are true. A good cook is efficient, doing as much at once as possible, wasting no time. Waiting for something to boil? Peel the next thing on the list. Waiting for something to cool? Wash the dirty pots.

But a good cook also doesn’t attempt to do so much at once that food is forgotten and burns or, worse, they have an accident with knives. Know your limits and work within them. Many of us are forgetful of what’s not in front of us. If you need to, set a timer for foods in the oven.

As I write this, I’ve got my oven at 250°F (120°C). Beets are roasting and pork belly is braising. I know I’m not going to forget them because it’s making my apartment uncomfortably hot. But every time I brine chicken overnight, I leave a note on my bathroom mirror that says, “Rinse that chicken off, dummy.”

At the very latest, you should plan your prep to be completed thirty minutes before showtime. That leaves time for emergencies — for making something again because you burned it or there wasn’t enough.

THE CLEANING AND THE SETTING

Y 
 our house does not need to be professionally cleaned just because you’re having guests over. Everyone owns sneakers, children’s toys, and umbrellas. Your friends do, too. We understand this. And unless you live in an ultra-modern showroom for Danish furniture, a science lab, or a recreated set from Stanley Kubrick’s
2001
, some of that humanity is going to show. Don’t worry about concealing every last trace of your possessions. But that doesn’t mean you have to be a slob. A dirty toilet or sink is embarrassing.

Any room that guests will be in should be neat. Not spotless, but neat. That means the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and especially the bathroom. That is the room that guests will be in alone, with the time to notice that your mirror is covered in whatever ejects from your teeth as you floss. Make sure that the sink, toilet, and mirror are scrubbed.

I had an uncle who kept his porn stash in the guest bathroom, probably so his wife wouldn’t find it. Instead, I found it, every year on Passover. In case there are any technophobes out there who still own non-digital pornography, do not store it in the guest bathroom, where a guest might uncover it while searching for spare toilet paper.

And do have spare toilet paper. Leave not even the slightest chance of subjecting a guest to the humiliation of that shortage.

Depending on what type of table and chairs you have, give them a once-over to make sure guests aren’t sitting in gum or other residues. No one cares if your bedroom is messy, even if you are using it to store coats. Rather than preoccupy yourself with steam cleaning the sofa and dusting every shelf, just try to keep surfaces free of clutter.

Many people have books or magazines on their coffee table. But if you expect guests to put drinks on it, your collection of
New Yorker
s and vintage
Life
magazines are in the way. We get it — you read this week’s review of the biography of Lincoln. But if guests sit on a sofa, they will want a place to put their drinks down. The coffee table or side tables must be free of your belongings.

Your kitchen should be spotless, not just for appearances or hygiene, but for your ease of use. Some space, not needed for cooking, should be cleared and dedicated for the wine or flowers that your guests will bring. Left to their own devices, they will put these things exactly in the middle of your workspace. You could be doing your last-minute chiffonade of basil and guests will drop a bouquet of lilies right on the cutting board.

If you are one of those people who insist on having every conceivable accoutrement of Victorian refinement, then knock yourself out. Lay down three forks, two spoons, and two knives. Wedge napkins into silver napkin holders. Assemble a diorama in the table’s centre that depicts the history of table setting.

But I’m a minimalist. I believe the only things that belong on the table are the tools we need for eating dinner. For me, that usually means wineglasses, water glasses, napkins, cutlery, and candles. But it can depend on the evening and the meal. If you’ve made pizza — and congratulations on making dough from scratch — you don’t need any cutlery. If you’ve made some Asian noodle dish, put out chopsticks. The word “utensil” stems from
utensilia
, Latin for “things for use.” They are tools, not decoration. Don’t put out tools you don’t need.

To start, the table will be set for the first course and nothing more. The seven-piece cutlery setting is a waste of space. If the first course requires a knife and fork, that’s how it’s set up. If it’s a shared dish and guests will help themselves, there are side plates and serving spoons or tongs.

When I was a kid, setting the table meant first laying out the padded table cover, then the tablecloth to cover that. It made me question the value of my father’s oak table, since we never saw it during dinner. So I also don’t believe in tablecloths.

When I was ready to purchase my first grown-up table, I chose a block of reclaimed factory wood, its surface gouged with fifty years of labour but preserved under a coating of enamel. There is no need to protect it with tablecloths, placemats, or coasters — not that it has stopped anyone from giving me those items as gifts.

If your table is a type of wood, such as teak, that will stain from the weight of a napkin or if you talk too loud near it, then these measures are all necessary. Have your protective equipment out, counted, and checked for stains. If you’ve got a sturdy, stain-resistant table, consider doing away with this junk. Like a condom, it spoils the mood. And there is literally zero chance of your cutlery getting pregnant from an unprotected table.

Candles, however, are a must. Maybe they seem like the affectation of a 1990s goth kid or a romance novel. And the older we get, the more we are likely to have spent money on effective track lighting and lamps for our home. But the dramatic effect of candlelight is the best atmosphere you could ever buy, and it only costs a couple of dollars.

Avoid tea lights, those thimble-sized pucks of wax. They are too small and usually burn for only ninety minutes. If the evening goes on for four hours, you’ll have to keep lighting new ones. It’s not worth it. Go to a restaurant supply store (the same one where you got your deli cups from) or a supermarket and get some six-hour candles. Light them fifteen minutes before showtime and place them in glass jars (save jars from jam or honey) or bowls so they’re not easily blown out (by haughty people like myself, who derisively snort with gusto sufficient to extinguish candles).

One of the biggest factors that determines our perception of restaurants is lighting. Harsh overhead light makes us feel like we’re in a dentist’s office. Soft light, twinkling and reflecting from multiple points, makes us feel attractive. So while you’re at it, install a dimmer on your dining room’s overhead light switch. This will cost no more than a few dollars, is available at any hardware store, and can be installed even by someone like me (though I did have a grown-up do mine).

BRAISING: TWO RECIPES

I’ve talked a lot about braising, but let’s get practical. Here are a simple guide to braising and two recipes that make use of the meltingly soft meat. Both of these dishes are on my regular rotation of crowd-pleasers.

Here we are working with beef cheek. You’ll find the same techniques work with other meats (after you learned to tie your shoes, you didn’t need to relearn with every new pair), but for light-coloured pork, chicken, or rabbit, use white wine instead of red, and don’t caramelize the vegetables.

Braised Beef Cheeks

You will need a large lidded container that can go in the oven. A stainless steel pot or a casserole will do, but you can also cook this in a countertop Crock-Pot.

The first two steps are optional. Browning the meat and caramelizing the vegetables will give you more flavour and colour, but you could just dump it all in a pot and cover it with water.

Preheat the oven to 275°F (135°C).

Heat a frying pan on high until it’s smoking. Melt just enough fat to lubricate the pan. In batches, sear beef on each side until a crust develops, about one minute a side. Transfer to the pot. When searing, add more fat as the pan dries.

Reduce the pan to low heat. Add the onion, carrot, and garlic. Stirring occasionally, caramelize in the pan. It’ll take about forty-five minutes. Transfer the vegetables to the pot. Deglaze the pan with wine, then pour into the pot. Add the remaining ingredients and just enough water to cover the meat. Beef floating at the surface will dry, so use an oven-safe dish to weigh it down (in my kitchen I’ve got a small pot lid that’s just the right size). Cover and place in the oven. Don’t bother checking it before three hours. Every hour after that, poke it with a knife. When the blade slides in and out, it’s done. It will probably take about six hours.

Allow it to cool in the liquid, then strain. At this point I usually reduce the liquid to make a gravy or jus.

Refrigerate the beef. When it’s cold, wrap it tightly in cling wrap and place it in the freezer for up to two months, or until Saturday’s dinner.

Beef Mole and Pickled Celery

When I make mole sauce I use Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s recipe, from his great book
The River Cottage Meat Book
. I produce about 12 cups (3 L) and freeze it for later use. The first time I made mole I found it to be less work than everyone said it would be, but the second time I realized that it’s still a lot of labour. Feel free to buy a jar of mole sauce or paste and loosen it with stock.

Wrapping the meat in a rich, fatty sauce means it needs something starchy and something acidic to balance it out. I like to tuck some caramelized parsnips, or just boiled potatoes, underneath. The pickled celery also prevents the dish from being one big mush.