First and foremost, I have to send a shout out to absolutely everyone who attended the first Brilliant Meal Supper Club last night. I almost missed my own party due to a terrible migraine and being unable to treat it with anything stronger than Tylenol and a dark room. What happened as a result of my not being able to micromanage everything, was nothing short of brilliance. Every single person who came was amazing. From helping in the prep, to mixing the drinks, to serving and pouring the wine to cleaning up and making sure my stove was streak-free. It was literally a Brilliant Meal. The food was good, but the people were spectacular. And that's what it is really all about. Thank you all! Bravo!
For those of you who couldn't make it, we hope you can next time!
What makes me the happiest is that the second meal was already being discussed as the coffee was being poured at the first. The second supper club is tentatively planned for September 19. More details will follow. Any suggestions are more than welcome. Place and theme are open. Please make comments here so we can all see them.
Let's keep this going!
Cheers!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
First Supper Club Menu: French
After much agonizing, I have settled on a menu for our first supper club dinner. It will be a french inspired coursed meal. There will be lots of food, but the portions will be small. Still, something to remember when planning meals for that day. Might I suggest yogurt for lunch?
Currently the menu is:
Appetizers and Cocktails
Onion Soup
Beef Bourguignon
Salad
Profiteroles
Coffee/Tea
I hope this helps with your wine selections. Appetizers start at 6 pm. If you have any comments or suggestions please let me know. Can't wait to see everyone!
Currently the menu is:
Appetizers and Cocktails
Onion Soup
Beef Bourguignon
Salad
Profiteroles
Coffee/Tea
I hope this helps with your wine selections. Appetizers start at 6 pm. If you have any comments or suggestions please let me know. Can't wait to see everyone!
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Brilliant Meal: The Supper Club
I'm doing it! I'm jumping on the band wagon of the oh so retro, yet currently tragically hip trend of "The Supper Club." Only on a slightly less grandiose scale. It is no secret that I love to throw dinner parties. I take great pleasure in planning, organizing, shopping for and cooking the meal. My problem comes with who to invite, when to invite them so they can make it, what they can and can't eat (or don't like to eat) and what kind of party will it be? Casual, formal, french, greek, southern comfort, experimental or tried and true?
I'm turning The Brilliant Meal: The Blog into The Brilliant Meal: The Supper Club. This will come as a surprise to my devoted husband, I'm sure, who winces at, but lovingly supports all my dinner party hemming and hawing. I will blog about the upcoming Brilliant Meal and then recap how the evening went.
Who's invited? Everyone who wants to come on a particular date and time. Just let us know the Thursday before if you're coming and if you're bringing anyone. Otherwise we will assume you're unavailable to attend that month.
Where is it? Currently at the Eichorst/Napp abode in Broomfield, CO.
When will it be? The third Sunday of every month (barring holidays and hospitalization)
How to be involved? In the beginning we ask everyone to bring a favorite bottle of wine or drink of choice to share and share alike. If we get delusions of grandeur: I may ask people to contribute a minimal amount to cover costs of expensive ingredients. Also, if you want to come early to help, please do! Many cooks make for more fun! If you want to bring food, just let me know a week ahead of time so I can revise the menu.
The first supper club will be held on Sunday, August 15, 2010. Theme for this supper club dinner will be Celebration. We will be celebrating our new house, the engagement of Jack Eichorst and Madden Swan, Jay Eichorst's visit to Colorado, etc.
Check back to the blog for the menu a week prior. I hope this will be a raging success and a way to see people outside holidays and to connect over great food and better company. Please join us!
I'm turning The Brilliant Meal: The Blog into The Brilliant Meal: The Supper Club. This will come as a surprise to my devoted husband, I'm sure, who winces at, but lovingly supports all my dinner party hemming and hawing. I will blog about the upcoming Brilliant Meal and then recap how the evening went.
Who's invited? Everyone who wants to come on a particular date and time. Just let us know the Thursday before if you're coming and if you're bringing anyone. Otherwise we will assume you're unavailable to attend that month.
Where is it? Currently at the Eichorst/Napp abode in Broomfield, CO.
When will it be? The third Sunday of every month (barring holidays and hospitalization)
How to be involved? In the beginning we ask everyone to bring a favorite bottle of wine or drink of choice to share and share alike. If we get delusions of grandeur: I may ask people to contribute a minimal amount to cover costs of expensive ingredients. Also, if you want to come early to help, please do! Many cooks make for more fun! If you want to bring food, just let me know a week ahead of time so I can revise the menu.
The first supper club will be held on Sunday, August 15, 2010. Theme for this supper club dinner will be Celebration. We will be celebrating our new house, the engagement of Jack Eichorst and Madden Swan, Jay Eichorst's visit to Colorado, etc.
Check back to the blog for the menu a week prior. I hope this will be a raging success and a way to see people outside holidays and to connect over great food and better company. Please join us!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Approaching Brilliance
Friday
We awoke on Friday morning to a gloomy start. The low clouds hung over the strip like a hangover. I'm sure mirroring what many of the visitors were also experiencing. This night we were going to see Ka. A production of Cirque du Soleil that we had seen a year before, but this time my husband snagged us, literally, the best seats in the house. Being married to a former lighting and sound theater guy has its perks. We were excited. So excited, in fact, that we couldn't decide on whether to eat before or after the show and where to go. We made reservations at 3 different restaurants, figuring we'd decide closer to the show.
For the morning we had a croissant and coffee in our room while getting ready. Between buttery, perfectly flakey layers of pastry and showering in our overly large bathroom, the clouds lifted and gave us a lovely blue sky and shinning sun. So we walked. We walked up past the older hotels that have somehow remained on the strip. Past Bill's Gamblin' Hall and Casino, past the Flamingo and the Imperial Palace and Harrah’s. And unlike the behemoths that continue to populate the strip these hotels sit right on the sidewalk and push their faces into yours as you walk past their smell of smoke and cheep buffets. It was at the Venetian that everything changed. It was there I saw the sign. Bouchon. I stopped in my tracks. The Bouchon? Thomas Keller? Kith and Kin to French Laundry? Two cookbooks in my house from two restaurants by one chef who's avoided all pretense of the celebrity chef and remained true to his art? After about a minute of starting at the sign I told my husband that we were going, no matter what. He knew he could not refuse me. Thus reservations were made for Saturday night.
The rest of the day we walked the strip, ate at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill in Caesar's Palace and ordered room service after being unable to come to a decision after Ka. Not our finest hour, but it was 10 at night and it was the only smoke-free option for eating. Saturday would be better.
We awoke on Friday morning to a gloomy start. The low clouds hung over the strip like a hangover. I'm sure mirroring what many of the visitors were also experiencing. This night we were going to see Ka. A production of Cirque du Soleil that we had seen a year before, but this time my husband snagged us, literally, the best seats in the house. Being married to a former lighting and sound theater guy has its perks. We were excited. So excited, in fact, that we couldn't decide on whether to eat before or after the show and where to go. We made reservations at 3 different restaurants, figuring we'd decide closer to the show.
For the morning we had a croissant and coffee in our room while getting ready. Between buttery, perfectly flakey layers of pastry and showering in our overly large bathroom, the clouds lifted and gave us a lovely blue sky and shinning sun. So we walked. We walked up past the older hotels that have somehow remained on the strip. Past Bill's Gamblin' Hall and Casino, past the Flamingo and the Imperial Palace and Harrah’s. And unlike the behemoths that continue to populate the strip these hotels sit right on the sidewalk and push their faces into yours as you walk past their smell of smoke and cheep buffets. It was at the Venetian that everything changed. It was there I saw the sign. Bouchon. I stopped in my tracks. The Bouchon? Thomas Keller? Kith and Kin to French Laundry? Two cookbooks in my house from two restaurants by one chef who's avoided all pretense of the celebrity chef and remained true to his art? After about a minute of starting at the sign I told my husband that we were going, no matter what. He knew he could not refuse me. Thus reservations were made for Saturday night.
The rest of the day we walked the strip, ate at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill in Caesar's Palace and ordered room service after being unable to come to a decision after Ka. Not our finest hour, but it was 10 at night and it was the only smoke-free option for eating. Saturday would be better.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Not So Brilliant Meal
Welcome to part one of a three part series on my recent trip to Las Vegas.
Thursday
I do not travel well. Not in the least and the fact that my husband continues to be my husband after traveling with me is miracle number 1 in his inevitable journey towards sainthood. I seem to go through a systematic mental breakdown as soon as I get in the car leading all the way up to me unpacking my bag wherever it is that I'm going to. Between ticket lines, security lines, boarding lines and a sardine-like travel experience, I experience a temporary insanity. Let's just say it's not fun for anyone involved. On the other hand, I think I've made considerable progress in overcoming my fear of flying. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.
We decided to go to Vegas five months ago since all our traveling since our honeymoon has been family-centric. Just me and Ben. We booked a happy little long weekend in mid-February the weekend before Valentine's Day. It was supposed to be blissful. Good food, good shows, a silly hotel designed to look like a cartoon version of Paris. Hey, and isn't the Super Bowl usually the last weekend of January? Nope. Not this year. This year it was a week late and every misogynistic, cigar smoking, drinking Jack Daniels out of the bottle while walking down the strip, ogling the nearly naked cocktail waitresses while standing up to demonstrate some sexually perverted story jackass on the planet was there. Oh yes, bliss was mine.
The first night we decided to eat at this little french bistro that has a patio so you can enjoy the wonders of easy people watching with wine. It's been a favorite of mine for a long time. Mon Ami Gabi. My friend Gabi. And she was. I say was, because that was before the steak and frites. It started out well. I had glass of white wine and a lovely butter lettuce salad with beets and goat cheese. It was delicious, but this is a case of good + good = good. Hard to mess up. Ben had oysters that were the epitome of briny goodness. However, my steak had been "tenderized" within an inch of existence and the only part left was the sinue holding it together. I cannot remember a time where I couldn't even chew a steak. I think it only made it tougher. Still the frites dipped in their excellent Bearnaise sauce were crunchy and the perfect amount of tarragon.
Part of the downfall of this meal can be attributed to our neighbors at the next table. 3 southern women who smoked like chimneys and agreed that the best Elton John song is from The Lion King. They didn't even have the decency to smoke good cigarettes. The one smoking nearest to me held her tar stick down by my seat and blew her gag inducing smoke in my direction. Always better to ruin a stranger's meal than your own, I always say. It wasn't the worst meal I ever had, but brilliance was out of reach that night. So we got a bottle of wine and a couple pastries and headed up to our room. Exhausted, we drank and watched Antiques Roadshow. Who knew a wooden spoon set could be worth so much?
Thursday
I do not travel well. Not in the least and the fact that my husband continues to be my husband after traveling with me is miracle number 1 in his inevitable journey towards sainthood. I seem to go through a systematic mental breakdown as soon as I get in the car leading all the way up to me unpacking my bag wherever it is that I'm going to. Between ticket lines, security lines, boarding lines and a sardine-like travel experience, I experience a temporary insanity. Let's just say it's not fun for anyone involved. On the other hand, I think I've made considerable progress in overcoming my fear of flying. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.
We decided to go to Vegas five months ago since all our traveling since our honeymoon has been family-centric. Just me and Ben. We booked a happy little long weekend in mid-February the weekend before Valentine's Day. It was supposed to be blissful. Good food, good shows, a silly hotel designed to look like a cartoon version of Paris. Hey, and isn't the Super Bowl usually the last weekend of January? Nope. Not this year. This year it was a week late and every misogynistic, cigar smoking, drinking Jack Daniels out of the bottle while walking down the strip, ogling the nearly naked cocktail waitresses while standing up to demonstrate some sexually perverted story jackass on the planet was there. Oh yes, bliss was mine.
The first night we decided to eat at this little french bistro that has a patio so you can enjoy the wonders of easy people watching with wine. It's been a favorite of mine for a long time. Mon Ami Gabi. My friend Gabi. And she was. I say was, because that was before the steak and frites. It started out well. I had glass of white wine and a lovely butter lettuce salad with beets and goat cheese. It was delicious, but this is a case of good + good = good. Hard to mess up. Ben had oysters that were the epitome of briny goodness. However, my steak had been "tenderized" within an inch of existence and the only part left was the sinue holding it together. I cannot remember a time where I couldn't even chew a steak. I think it only made it tougher. Still the frites dipped in their excellent Bearnaise sauce were crunchy and the perfect amount of tarragon.
Part of the downfall of this meal can be attributed to our neighbors at the next table. 3 southern women who smoked like chimneys and agreed that the best Elton John song is from The Lion King. They didn't even have the decency to smoke good cigarettes. The one smoking nearest to me held her tar stick down by my seat and blew her gag inducing smoke in my direction. Always better to ruin a stranger's meal than your own, I always say. It wasn't the worst meal I ever had, but brilliance was out of reach that night. So we got a bottle of wine and a couple pastries and headed up to our room. Exhausted, we drank and watched Antiques Roadshow. Who knew a wooden spoon set could be worth so much?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
POM
It has been a while since my last post. In fact, since before I started up teaching my spring semester. For some reason this semester seems just a little bit harder, my students just a little more dispondent, the days just a little bleaker. In the depth of winter I try to stay busy and cook new things and explore. My husband and I recently were turned on to a new market of sorts. It's called POM, aka Pacific Ocean Market. Ironic since we are no where near the Pacific Ocean, but, it would seem to be more of an homage to the great bounty most Asian countries are located near.
From the moment we stepped into the grocery store and were greeted by an enourmous Christmas tree located in the frozen foods section, I was in love. My jaw dropped. It was as if snippits of Asia had been crammed into one grocery store and it was bursting. Gone were any trappings of the typical American grocery store. The displays had a chaotic order and I had no idea what half of it was. Nothing was displayed to be attractive or pretty. The produce section was a mish mash with no clearly defined fruit, vegetable or herb sections. In one corner of the store are whole crispy ducks hanging, head on with a pole jammed through their bills. Whole roast pigs are advertized for 69 dollars. Bags of peeled garlic, fermented bean curd and parts of animals Americans won't go near are in another corner. And the slightly off putting smell coming from behind the meat counter would be cause for complaint in any other grocery. No lovely steaks or neat orange crab legs are for sale here. You're more likely to see cloudy white plastic bins with pig uterus, chicken feet and pork belly. The fish behind the counter are whole, unless you just need the heads, of which they have a significant pile. In the frozen section is every kind of fish, prepared every kind of way. And unless you consider durian a heat up dinner, it appears that the microwave doesn't play a huge role in food preparation for the people who shop there.
I noticed we were in the minority. And although there were many people of asian descent, there were also people in there speaking spanish and some eastern european language I couldn't recognize. Despite the aisle upon aisle of gummys to teas to hot sauces to pickled bamboo, I couldn't help but notice the rather angry asian man and, who I can only guess is, his wife sporting a sizable black eye. She looked so beaten down. She must have to have been to not even try to hide her face. She looked like she was past shame or embarrasment. Quietly following her loud husband up and down the aisles, doing her grocery shopping, she seemed hopeless. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a foreign country with an abusive spouse. Although, I suppose there's probably no Safeway in China for homesick American's to go shopping at to get their Spagetti-Os or Kraft Mac and Cheese. I hope she finds some comfort in the pieces of home crowding that little market in Colorado.
From the moment we stepped into the grocery store and were greeted by an enourmous Christmas tree located in the frozen foods section, I was in love. My jaw dropped. It was as if snippits of Asia had been crammed into one grocery store and it was bursting. Gone were any trappings of the typical American grocery store. The displays had a chaotic order and I had no idea what half of it was. Nothing was displayed to be attractive or pretty. The produce section was a mish mash with no clearly defined fruit, vegetable or herb sections. In one corner of the store are whole crispy ducks hanging, head on with a pole jammed through their bills. Whole roast pigs are advertized for 69 dollars. Bags of peeled garlic, fermented bean curd and parts of animals Americans won't go near are in another corner. And the slightly off putting smell coming from behind the meat counter would be cause for complaint in any other grocery. No lovely steaks or neat orange crab legs are for sale here. You're more likely to see cloudy white plastic bins with pig uterus, chicken feet and pork belly. The fish behind the counter are whole, unless you just need the heads, of which they have a significant pile. In the frozen section is every kind of fish, prepared every kind of way. And unless you consider durian a heat up dinner, it appears that the microwave doesn't play a huge role in food preparation for the people who shop there.
I noticed we were in the minority. And although there were many people of asian descent, there were also people in there speaking spanish and some eastern european language I couldn't recognize. Despite the aisle upon aisle of gummys to teas to hot sauces to pickled bamboo, I couldn't help but notice the rather angry asian man and, who I can only guess is, his wife sporting a sizable black eye. She looked so beaten down. She must have to have been to not even try to hide her face. She looked like she was past shame or embarrasment. Quietly following her loud husband up and down the aisles, doing her grocery shopping, she seemed hopeless. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a foreign country with an abusive spouse. Although, I suppose there's probably no Safeway in China for homesick American's to go shopping at to get their Spagetti-Os or Kraft Mac and Cheese. I hope she finds some comfort in the pieces of home crowding that little market in Colorado.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Inspiration
This post is dedicated to my good friend and fellow writer/cook, Chloe. She's a poet, writer, teacher and author of several blogs, one of them inspired this blog (which I'm worried that only my husband reads right now). I met Chloe when we were poetry grad students at Sarah Lawrence several years ago. And while we were friends and worked together on the same literary journal, I never knew she was a fellow foodie. It wasn't until recently through Facebook, I realized we shared another passion: food.
Even though we went to different parts of the country after graduation, our lives have taken surprisingly similar tracks. We both married late (relatively), are in relationships based on strong friendship with men who indulge our passions/obsessions, teach composition at local colleges and are still working to make it in the writing world- so to speak. What separates Chloe from me is she appears to have more boundless energy than anyone I know. I have to commend her on all that she does and, unlike myself, she doesn't seem to let much of anything slow her down. Bravo, Chlo.
What initially started me on this post was a blog entry by Chloe today asking what our favorite cookbook is. I didn't even have to think. Ina Garten. Anything Ina Garten. She has been my cooking inspiration for years. Despite the fact that I simply want her life (living in the Hamptons with a popular cooking show that she now does from her "barn" and spending the rest of her time in Paris), she has taught me more about cooking and entertaining than anyone else. Not only do I love cooking her recipes, but I like reading her cookbooks. I can't say that about many books these days, let alone cookbooks. Ina followed her passion. It's evident in her writing. And here I am again back at writing and cooking. I admire her more than I can express for imparting that passion to me. Her writing did that.
I recall a conversation with my aunt where we talked about a recent party I gave. I told her about the amount of work that went into it and how I worried if people liked the food. She said to me..."for some people it's just food." To which I replied, "I guess so," but deep down do not truly believe that. As Ina says, most people say they don't want dessert, but always eat it if it's served and remember it long after. To my inspirations: Cheers!
You can read Chloe's food blog at farelascarpetta.blogspot.com.
Even though we went to different parts of the country after graduation, our lives have taken surprisingly similar tracks. We both married late (relatively), are in relationships based on strong friendship with men who indulge our passions/obsessions, teach composition at local colleges and are still working to make it in the writing world- so to speak. What separates Chloe from me is she appears to have more boundless energy than anyone I know. I have to commend her on all that she does and, unlike myself, she doesn't seem to let much of anything slow her down. Bravo, Chlo.
What initially started me on this post was a blog entry by Chloe today asking what our favorite cookbook is. I didn't even have to think. Ina Garten. Anything Ina Garten. She has been my cooking inspiration for years. Despite the fact that I simply want her life (living in the Hamptons with a popular cooking show that she now does from her "barn" and spending the rest of her time in Paris), she has taught me more about cooking and entertaining than anyone else. Not only do I love cooking her recipes, but I like reading her cookbooks. I can't say that about many books these days, let alone cookbooks. Ina followed her passion. It's evident in her writing. And here I am again back at writing and cooking. I admire her more than I can express for imparting that passion to me. Her writing did that.
I recall a conversation with my aunt where we talked about a recent party I gave. I told her about the amount of work that went into it and how I worried if people liked the food. She said to me..."for some people it's just food." To which I replied, "I guess so," but deep down do not truly believe that. As Ina says, most people say they don't want dessert, but always eat it if it's served and remember it long after. To my inspirations: Cheers!
You can read Chloe's food blog at farelascarpetta.blogspot.com.
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