Alas, dinner party prepping is not the whole of our gullet-related activities this weekend, thank goodness, as even a girl as in love with her very sharp knives as I am needs, on occasion, some hours away from them. I was invited to a – no, really – pickle party last night, hosted by Chris at Apartment Therapy (and oh, what an envy-inducing apartment he has), Ann at A Chicken in Every Granny Cart and Jon from Wheelhouse Pickles. Now, I know this may seem surprising, but I lean a little towards the socially awkward when I walk into a room, as I did last night, not knowing a single person at all – I mean, how do you even introduce yourself to the host if you don’t know who he is? – but everyone was really friendly and easy-going and more than made up for my inhibitive nature.
Of course, the true, even more transparent reason I couldn’t resist attending was to set this Russian I am married to loose in a room of marinated delights; and take pictures, of course. From the wasabi-hinted green beans to the sliced butter pickles on cheese toasts and brined beets, every bite met his soused seal of approval, and from a boy I am certain was doused daily in vinegar as a child, that’s no small compliment. Me? I fell in love with the marcona almonds; I’ve failed to see their charm in the past but toasted in olive oil with a sprinkling of sea salt raised their flavor to an addictive level. In addition, the cinnamon-hinted pears were fantastic and light and I really want to put them in a green salad soon.
As for the remainder of this afternoon: salad assembly, shrimp poaching, par-baked baguette baking, hors d’oeuvres plating and of course, gratin a-broiling are the remaining items on the agenda. But first, a nap. I think it’s going to be a late night.