Jan. 3rd, 2012 11:53 am
Party report for Hogmanay 2012
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muckefuckApologies for the delay (particularly to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mollyqc, who I know has been waiting patiently for her food porn), but yesterday, in a development which was met with grim resignation, we once again lost connectivity at home. It was diagnosed as a DNS server error and, weakened as we were by days of soft living and self-indulgence, neither of us could summon the will to go on a customer help line for some indefinite length of time. As a result, I'll be doing this from memory, without monshu's composed bill of fare to refer to.
The Guests We had 35 guests from a field of about 80 invitees. No one who hadn't RSVPed with an "Ay" made it (though a couple did put off responding to the literally last possible moment), and even a few of those went unaccountably missing. As much as I might've enjoyed seeing those others, I felt like this year--more so than most--I actually had a chance to chat with almost every person who walked through the door. Some I was even able to take into the study and perusemonshu's extensive art collection with. I credit this not only to the numbers but also to a better spread; we never had a crush and we never had a rush to the door.
There was an amusing moment when, having made the rounds, I was able to reflect on how people had self-segregated by room: the Old Man's work friends occupied the parlour, the UofC crowd had taken strategic positions at the head of the groaning board, and the bears held the kitchen (although with nothing like the unchallenged authority they'd exerted the year previously). But I also witnessed one of my old Hyde Park friends talking tomonshu's, zompist's Peruvian wife at long last meeting Diego's Ecuadorian boyfriend, and one of the lawyers happily holding court with whoever he could buttonhole, regardless of provenance. All in all, I felt we had obtained the happy balance we'd aimed for.
The Eats Similarly, although we may have overbought (there's half an unserved turkey breast at home waiting to become Tetrazzini for tonight), we managed to put out almost exactly the right amount of food. (With only two exceptions: Now I know that my friends are no more fond of beets than I and considerably less of dark rye.)monshu kept it simple and made only three salads: Waldorf with curry mayonnaise (nut-free in order not to kill no-show welcomerain), roasted beet with walnut and bleu, and a simple mixed green. Besides the roast turkey breast, there was a spiral cut ham and assorted breads (dark rye, light rye, and duelling multigrains from Bemiston's and Breadman).
The Old Man adjudged his gingerbread loaves not up to his minimum standards of presentation, so he bought some whipping cream and turned them into a trifle. But his show-stopper was a pie filled with homemade mincemeat--an additional month of aging was very good to it indeed. All my faith in the sophisticated tastes of my guests was confirmed when I saw that not a slice remained at the end; I had to scoop up crumbs just in order to get a taste myself!innerdoggie contributed the dish without which no New Year's is complete (hoppin' john, for those among you who didn't know) and ʾUmm ʿAṭāʾ Allāh took my dithering between the twin delights of figgy pudding and rum-brandy cake as an invitation to bring both.
It was partly with her in mind that I picked up a container of herring in cream from Erikson's in Andersonville (which--the feisty white-haired owner will have you know--is far from being closed, has been there for 86 years, and "will probably outlast most businesses on the street"). The cheese board was modest this year: only sage Derby, a figgy chèvre, and a goat cheese brie. (Our guests will have to forgive us for keeping for ourselves the Maytag blue brought by one of the Iowan invitees).
The Drinks At the eleventh hour, worried that we hadn't enough offerings for the non-tipplers in the crowd, I started mulling some cider on the stove; it was a runaway hit. So was the homemade glögg gifted by a friend. (Next year I'll be sure to order a second bottle!) For once, I didn't have anything I was particularly pushing, unless you count the Spanish sipping vermouth I was cleverly sold on at Vinic's. Instead, my guests pushed me. "Okay, I'm ready for something unusual" at least two of them told me at least two different times.
Believe it or not, someone actually left with the professed intention of buying a bottle of the Zirbenz Stone Pine Liqueur. (Of course, this was Abū ʿAṭāʾ Allāh, so one cannot discount the possibility of pure perversity at play.) I wish I could remember![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rpg's description of Farigoule; I remember only the mention of "an old man's socks". Speaking of which, I was able to give lhn the rare pleasure of giving me an exotic liquor which I had not actually had before. (Batavia-Arrack, another from the Haus Alpenz stable.)
Whenever I appeared in the kitchen, there was a whole like a sniffing going on. That was probably the greatest pleasure for me as a host: introducing friends to flavours which amused, intrigued, and sometimes delighted. Woodruff candy was passed around while I babbled excitedly about the FDA's attempts to keep us all safe from coumarin poisoning. We even trotted outmonshu's half-forgotten rhubarb pickles. Near the end of the evening, a guest expressed interest in the mead left from a previous cocktail party and so I insisted he open it; before he left he announced that he was tipsy for the first time in two decades.
That, I've only now realised, is my resolution for the new year: Open it. Drink it down. Eat it up. Getting ready for the party, we threw out a depressing amount of neglected food. Some of it was stored and forgotten, some was saved for a "special occasion" that failed to materialise before the expiration date. Not this year. I will finish up all the Christmas cookies, imported marzipan, and filled chocolate if it kills me. I will dip into the various bottles and jars which the Old Man's relatives lovingly packed for us. I will remember that these things, like good friends, are there to be enjoyed, and enjoyed often and without regret.
mollyqc, who I know has been waiting patiently for her food porn), but yesterday, in a development which was met with grim resignation, we once again lost connectivity at home. It was diagnosed as a DNS server error and, weakened as we were by days of soft living and self-indulgence, neither of us could summon the will to go on a customer help line for some indefinite length of time. As a result, I'll be doing this from memory, without monshu's composed bill of fare to refer to.The Guests We had 35 guests from a field of about 80 invitees. No one who hadn't RSVPed with an "Ay" made it (though a couple did put off responding to the literally last possible moment), and even a few of those went unaccountably missing. As much as I might've enjoyed seeing those others, I felt like this year--more so than most--I actually had a chance to chat with almost every person who walked through the door. Some I was even able to take into the study and peruse
monshu's extensive art collection with. I credit this not only to the numbers but also to a better spread; we never had a crush and we never had a rush to the door.There was an amusing moment when, having made the rounds, I was able to reflect on how people had self-segregated by room: the Old Man's work friends occupied the parlour, the UofC crowd had taken strategic positions at the head of the groaning board, and the bears held the kitchen (although with nothing like the unchallenged authority they'd exerted the year previously). But I also witnessed one of my old Hyde Park friends talking to
monshu's, zompist's Peruvian wife at long last meeting Diego's Ecuadorian boyfriend, and one of the lawyers happily holding court with whoever he could buttonhole, regardless of provenance. All in all, I felt we had obtained the happy balance we'd aimed for.The Eats Similarly, although we may have overbought (there's half an unserved turkey breast at home waiting to become Tetrazzini for tonight), we managed to put out almost exactly the right amount of food. (With only two exceptions: Now I know that my friends are no more fond of beets than I and considerably less of dark rye.)
monshu kept it simple and made only three salads: Waldorf with curry mayonnaise (nut-free in order not to kill no-show welcomerain), roasted beet with walnut and bleu, and a simple mixed green. Besides the roast turkey breast, there was a spiral cut ham and assorted breads (dark rye, light rye, and duelling multigrains from Bemiston's and Breadman).The Old Man adjudged his gingerbread loaves not up to his minimum standards of presentation, so he bought some whipping cream and turned them into a trifle. But his show-stopper was a pie filled with homemade mincemeat--an additional month of aging was very good to it indeed. All my faith in the sophisticated tastes of my guests was confirmed when I saw that not a slice remained at the end; I had to scoop up crumbs just in order to get a taste myself!
innerdoggie contributed the dish without which no New Year's is complete (hoppin' john, for those among you who didn't know) and ʾUmm ʿAṭāʾ Allāh took my dithering between the twin delights of figgy pudding and rum-brandy cake as an invitation to bring both.It was partly with her in mind that I picked up a container of herring in cream from Erikson's in Andersonville (which--the feisty white-haired owner will have you know--is far from being closed, has been there for 86 years, and "will probably outlast most businesses on the street"). The cheese board was modest this year: only sage Derby, a figgy chèvre, and a goat cheese brie. (Our guests will have to forgive us for keeping for ourselves the Maytag blue brought by one of the Iowan invitees).
The Drinks At the eleventh hour, worried that we hadn't enough offerings for the non-tipplers in the crowd, I started mulling some cider on the stove; it was a runaway hit. So was the homemade glögg gifted by a friend. (Next year I'll be sure to order a second bottle!) For once, I didn't have anything I was particularly pushing, unless you count the Spanish sipping vermouth I was cleverly sold on at Vinic's. Instead, my guests pushed me. "Okay, I'm ready for something unusual" at least two of them told me at least two different times.
Believe it or not, someone actually left with the professed intention of buying a bottle of the Zirbenz Stone Pine Liqueur. (Of course, this was Abū ʿAṭāʾ Allāh, so one cannot discount the possibility of pure perversity at play.) I wish I could remember
rpg's description of Farigoule; I remember only the mention of "an old man's socks". Speaking of which, I was able to give lhn the rare pleasure of giving me an exotic liquor which I had not actually had before. (Batavia-Arrack, another from the Haus Alpenz stable.)Whenever I appeared in the kitchen, there was a whole like a sniffing going on. That was probably the greatest pleasure for me as a host: introducing friends to flavours which amused, intrigued, and sometimes delighted. Woodruff candy was passed around while I babbled excitedly about the FDA's attempts to keep us all safe from coumarin poisoning. We even trotted out
monshu's half-forgotten rhubarb pickles. Near the end of the evening, a guest expressed interest in the mead left from a previous cocktail party and so I insisted he open it; before he left he announced that he was tipsy for the first time in two decades.That, I've only now realised, is my resolution for the new year: Open it. Drink it down. Eat it up. Getting ready for the party, we threw out a depressing amount of neglected food. Some of it was stored and forgotten, some was saved for a "special occasion" that failed to materialise before the expiration date. Not this year. I will finish up all the Christmas cookies, imported marzipan, and filled chocolate if it kills me. I will dip into the various bottles and jars which the Old Man's relatives lovingly packed for us. I will remember that these things, like good friends, are there to be enjoyed, and enjoyed often and without regret.
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I am even more sorry that I missed it.
And I can vouch, yours and monshu's place is a where the flavours amuse, intrigue, and delight - much much more than sometimes.
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