Some, uh, interesting plates have gone out on my dinner nights. If you ever wanted to be transported to a mid-90s Better Homes & Gardens dinner party that is either Brought to You By the Color Mauve or subtly revealing of a personality disorder, welcome, sit right down. It will all taste good (really!) -- even if I awkwardly describe the salad as being tossed with homemade pickle-liquid dressing. Somehow, duck night is so very purple: cherry-red-wine sauce, cabbage or roasted cauliflower, fingerling potatoes...some force swallows light frequencies throughout the visible spectrum, leaving only shades of violet. "Middleterranean" night is vibrant yet dingy (perhaps an irrepressible manifestation of the region's sociopolitics?) with chalky tapenade and flecks of spice all over. Italian night is a brilliant frenzy of color, culminating in a dessert composed with fine-dining precision.
Are things too brown, too beige? Sprinkle some paprika. Yes, even on chocolate cake. All the eggplant mushy and discolored? Roast or grill the shit out of it, saving the skin to chop into tiny squares you can caramelize and sprinkle like confetti. Some stuff looks pretty nice. Thinly-sliced radish makes the salads elegant, and grilled pork tenderloin is just classic.
And then there's breakfast. Ahhh, my chance to have total order and replicability. The symmetry of rows of pancakes on platters, the grace and harmony of simple things done well. Because no garnish or sauce or special treatment can improve upon a pile of crispy bacon. And for a while, on clear days, that's when the sun shines in the kitchen windows.
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