Last night we had a DNI first: the boys were in bed and
the lights were OUT by 7:30. Additionally, the food was ready to eat at 7:40.
We were done our dinner by 8:15. 8:15 is typically about the time we’re staring
hungrily at a hot baking pan saying, “Well, if we let this chicken cool for only
ten minutes instead of the recommended thirty we could be eating in…ten
minutes. OK, let’s do that.”
Our rhythm in the kitchen has become much more polished
in the last year. We almost don’t even need to say anymore who’s taking care
of which part. Roy makes the salad, I finish the entrée and make sure the
dessert will be cooled/warmed up by the time we are ready for it. We
collaborate on drinks and setting the table. Whomever has a spare minute snaps
a few photos for posterity. And then we eat.
We started with an ice (“Ahhhhssss! I wan’ ahhhssss!” says Owen on an hourly basis.) cold
glass of homemade cream soda. Roy and I aren’t soda drinkers, but there was something
much more elegant about making our own vanilla syrup and watching the cream
drip through the soda water and ice cubes than popping the top on a can. It was
very refreshing, and I appreciated the smaller serving of a sugary drink. Who came
up with the brilliant notion that a soda needs to be 12 oz anyway? 6 was plenty
for us.
Roy and I stood in front of the greens at Wegmans
yesterday morning staring at a tiny oblong orb of white, both wanting to act
like we knew what endive was, but both inwardly going, “is that right??” It was
the only endive in the store, so we went for it. Have you ever had it? You cut
off the bottom root part and it unfolds into perfect, stiff little cups of
green. So much easier to hold than lettuce leaves or anybody else’s idea of “nature’s
taco shells.” I’ve tried to wrap stuff up in lettuce leaves before…let’s be
real guys—it’s just a big mess.
This was not messy once assembled! Each leaf held toasted
walnuts, grapes, apples, blue cheese, olive oil, and salt. We splurged for some
stinky, specialty blue cheese and it was creamy loveliness. I think we both
anticipated not actually “eating with our hands” as the date title implies, but
we really did with this, most successfully!
We were excited for the tart. The ricotta cheese came out
like a Dairy Queen blizzard…you could hold the spoon upside down and the cheese
wasn’t going anywhere. Bravo Roy! I mixed it with parmesan, s&p, garlic,
nutmeg, thyme, and parmesan. This went into a perfectly-baked crust and was
topped with Roy’s sautéed leeks and bacon. Guys, this was good. It looked…dare
I say, better than the cookbook photo? And it was all salty and savory and
crispy and creamy. Really really good. If you happen to live on Union Street I
may be making another one and bringing it to you tomorrow night for supper.
We both had seconds of the tart. I was really proud of us
on this dish, because I knew we nailed it. It was baked perfectly and the
textures and tastes were complex. It’s hard to know with fancy cooking if you
are actually capturing the essence of what the author intended. We both knew we
“got it” last night, and that was a nice feeling indeed.
Maybe one of the reasons last night’s food seemed to go
so well was that there was a larger component of baking than usual. I baked the
crust for the tart, I baked the actual tart, and I baked the brownies. When I
bake I don’t have to re-read the recipe ten times. (Maybe only two or three…) I
know what’s coming next faster. I understand the science of mixing ingredients
in certain orders and at certain temperatures. It’s more of a dance and less of
a “watch and mimic frantically” type of situation.
So we ate the brownies. As you can see, I honored Owen and
kept a corner peanut-frosting-free. Poor kid. He would have really enjoyed that
frosting.
These were incredibly rich and fudge-like. Browned butter
was an excellent idea. The frosting was smooth and--are you allowed to say this
for peanut butter frosting—light. It didn’t overpower what was underneath, and
it wasn’t gritty or cloying. Our flake salt makes the top a little extra-fancy.
We dumped our
dishes into the sink and settled into the couch to watch some John Oliver. As he
wrapped up a segment on lead poisoning, Elmo and Rosita from Sesame Street
joined him to sing about increased federal funding for lead paint eradication.
Roy looked at me and said, “Can you believe we are watching Elmo in the middle
of our date night?” Irony at its finest. The comfort of good food lingered on
our tongues and in our tummies. The knowledge that we cooked yet another
complex meal with strong teamwork and an unspoken trust for each other made it
all the better. Happy one year anniversary Date Night In. We’ve got another
year to go and we’re happy to have many more chances to fail and succeed
together in the kitchen.
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