A Dinner Party Survival Guide : It’s a Love-Hate Thing

It is almost midnight, but I am going to try to eat something. I have a few morsels on a plate in front of me, and even though I feel weak and tired, I do find that my appetite has returned. So I sample the duck stew, a forkful of salad and some pasta.

It’s pretty good. Maybe I’ll live.

Those of you who eat think I have been ill. Those of you who cook know that these are the symptoms of a chronic malady. I am one of those people who still cooks for friends--and they just left, so I can relax and eat.

Yes, I throw dinner parties. I also rant, rave, threaten never to do it again, slam the oven door and, when I really want to intimidate, consult glossy oven sales brochures right in front of the incumbent, so he can see that his days are numbered. I once wept over a burned birthday cake. I have spent entire days without ever setting foot outside.

It turns out I am not alone in my anguish. Lots of home cooks think cooking for friends is a huge pain in the neck; for business associates, a whole other level of torture. Ellen Rose, owner of the Cook’s Library book store in West Hollywood, is arguably the standard bearer for this city’s amateur chefs--and she admits a love-hate relationship with feeding people.

“I love cooking,” she says. “I love the prep, the planning, the cooking. But sometimes I do get so tired I say to my husband, ‘I hope they enjoy the food and have a good time. I’m going upstairs for a good read.’ ”

It is not easy to be hospitable. Think about it: First, you have to acquire the ingredients, and since we do not live in a pedestrian-friendly city, for a big-deal dinner that can mean commuting from cheese store to bread store to fishmonger, from wine merchant to farmers market to your favorite coffee emporium.

The farmers markets have raised the level of the game with wonderfully fresh produce, but they also represent a moral challenge. If you’re a brave, last-minute sort of soul who came to domestic maturity in the Alice Waters/Chez Panisse seasonal menu era, it is incumbent upon you not to decide what to make until you see what’s fresh. The only problem is, there is no salumeria or rosticceria around the corner. It’s a car thing. It requires both stamina and flexibility.

Once home, you have to handle the prep work yourself. Restaurant chefs are surrounded by ambitious would-be chefs who can’t wait to be famous so they can reminisce about the days when they peeled onions at the master’s side. Home chefs? Usually accompanied by another adult who, to tell the truth, would probably be doing something else if love had not intervened, and possibly some kids who would much rather be roller blading.

But it’s OK. Dicing two dozen carrots can be a Zen thing if you get into it. Cleaning, seasoning and trussing three roasting chickens? This is the moment when your mind, liberated from complex issues like the checkbook or your kid’s math homework, can soar to creative heights.

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What’s the pay-off? Feeding friends is only partially about setting plates of food in front of them. It is, at the outset, about quality and standards--about finding a four-pound piece of salmon with the skin on that elicits appreciative murmurs before you’ve even cooked it, just because it looks like it is going to be terrific.

It is not about grandstanding. I remember the first time I fed two food writers--or rather, I remember the week that preceded the dinner, during which I stumbled through all the sorts of French recipes looking for something that was suitably grand. Luckily, I came to my senses before I began shopping. I was at home with roast chicken, pasta, grilled vegetables and what by now has become my trademark dessert, a fruit tart, so that’s what they got.

Which is not to say that home cooks are not seized, from time to time, by the absolutely inappropriate and usually deadly desire to show off. Shall I confess some past indiscretions? Fish gnocchi. An infamous first duck. Frizzled spinach. A lemon cake the Mighty Ducks could have used.

On a superficial level it is a mortifying moment. Your guests aren’t in a restaurant, after all. They can’t send the dish back and order something else. You’ve invited them over and It Did Not Work. These are some of the longest moments in social history.

However, the good cook is quick on her aching feet. A bad dish has one advantage: It tells you who your friends truly are. They eat everything else, forgive you and come back again. The ones who start making excuses next time around? You didn’t want them back anyway.

For the real reason to endure long hours over a hot stove is friendship. There are limitations to even the best restaurant. You cannot control the noise nor the musical selections. You cannot linger as long as you like at your table without risking the ire of the people stacked at the bar. If you are one of the four families left in America who still sit down to dinner together, restaurants impose physical limitations that are good for teaching discipline and not so hot when five little girls start singing, “May we please have more strawberries” at the top of their collective lungs.

I love restaurants for all the things they are not. Putting on nice clothes to enjoy a meal from which I will not see so much as a single dirty fork, and during which I will engage in adult discourse, is a civilized joy, a reminder that there is life beyond eating yesterday’s pasta with a 5-year-old. But I depend on home meals with friends for a sweeter time.

A lot of us feel this way. Some even want to have their friends over for dinner but can’t face the whole task, so they hire a caterer to prepare a meal and drop everything off to be warmed up at dinner time. The hosts then serve it up as their own.

Ah, but they miss the fun, the intimate causal link between your own food and someone else’s happiness. They miss the glee with which Harry tucks into that duck stew--or for that matter, the delight with which his Welsh wife, Judith, approaches any dessert that has a custard component. They miss the thrill that comes when a food professional takes a second helping. Or rather, they watch from a distance. Home cooks get immediate gratification, all too elusive in real live.

So the bad memories become anecdotes to tell at other dinner parties. The good memories, the heftier ones, linger long after the leftovers are gone.

RICOTTA AL FORNO

Angeli owner Evan Kleiman and cookbook writer Viana La Place devised this wonderfully dense baked ricotta--the perfect centerpiece for a light lunch, or an interesting alternative to the standard cheese-and-baguette appetizer.

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2 (15-ounce) cartons ricotta cheese, or 2 pounds

2 tablespoons butter

1/4 cup fine dry bread crumbs

4 eggs

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

3/4 cup pitted black olives, quartered

Salt, pepper

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* If ricotta is watery, drain in double-thick cheesecloth, knotted around cheese and hung from faucet over kitchen sink, at least 1 hour.

* Spread butter thickly over inside of 8-inch springform or souffle dish. Coat with bread crumbs and shake off excess.

* In bowl combine ricotta, eggs and Parmesan and mix until blended. Stir in olives. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Remember, olives are salty. Pour into prepared dish. Bake at 375 degrees 1 hour and 15 minutes. Unmold when cool and slice into wedges.

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Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

311 calories; 399 mg sodium; 176 mg cholesterol; 23 grams fat; 7 grams carbohydrates; 19 grams protein; 0.13 gram fiber.

BROILED BUTTERFLIED CHICKEN

While cookbook authors debate the best way to roast a chicken--breast up, breast down, on its side, hot oven or not--Julia Child offers a quick, easy, succulent alternative.

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1 (3-pound) chicken

2 tablespoons melted butter mixed with 1 teaspoon olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

Dash thyme, tarragon or mixed herbs, optional

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* Butterfly chicken by cutting along sides of backbone, then removing. Spread chicken skin-side-up and hit breast with hand to flatten. Tuck wing ends behind shoulder. Slit skin at either side of breast tip and tuck in drumstick tip.

* Brush chicken with butter and oil and place skin-side down in baking dish. Broil 5 inches from heat 15 minutes, basting every 5 minutes. Season lightly to taste with salt, pepper and herbs. Turn skin-side up and broil, basting, 15 minutes more.

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Makes 4 servings.

Each serving contains about:

428 calories; 252 mg sodium; 144 mg cholesterol; 33 grams fat; 0 carbohydrates; 32 grams protein; 0.01 gram fiber.

TARTE AU CITRON

MADAME CARTET

From Patricia Wells’ book “Bistro Cooking,” this easy and flavorful lemon tart also works well with berries piled on top.

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TART SHELL

1 cup flour

6 tablespoons butter, chilled and cut in pieces

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup powdered sugar

1 large egg, lightly beaten

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FILLING

2/3 cup fresh-squeezed lemon juice

1/2 cup granulated sugar

3 tablespoons creme fraiche or heavy whipping cream

4 large eggs

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TART SHELL

* Combine flour, butter, salt and sugar in food processor. Process 10 seconds, until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add egg and pulse until pastry holds together. Transfer to wax paper and flatten into disk.

* Dust fingers with flour and press dough into 10 1/2-inch tart pan with removable bottom. Crimp sides. Chill 2 to 3 hours.

* Pierce shell and line with heavy foil and baking weights. Bake at 375 degrees 20 minutes, remove foil and bake another 20 minutes. Let cool.

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FILLING

* In large bowl, whisk lemon juice, sugar and creme fraiche until well blended. Add eggs 1 at time and mix well. Pour into Tart Shell and bake at 375 degrees until firm, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool on rack.

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Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about:

276 calories; 167 mg sodium; 164 mg cholesterol; 14 grams fat; 33 grams carbohydrates; 6 grams protein; 0.04 gram fiber.