Eat Boutique

Food forms community. A few burgers on a grill can lure family and friends to a backyard. Piles of smoked beef and pork call an entire neighborhood to attention. And a medley of barbecued meats and grilled oysters pulled some friends to our garden a few weeks ago.

The menu was plentiful and presented a lot of variety, as you never know which dish will speak to which friend. We served a small smoked brisket, pork and beef ribs, citrus-marinated shellfish and a pile of oysters tossed on the grill with melted dill-butter. It was all fun and delicious, and our guests sampled a little bit of this and that while taking in the late Spring sun, a certain sun that always seems to be accompanied by a slight breeze.

The best part of the afternoon wasn’t the formal menu, though we did indeed have a nice meal. My favorite moment was when we placed a large white platter of fresh fruit in the center of the table. Everyone quickly returned to their seats, lunging for soft apricots and popping sweet strawberries. The multiple conversations ceased. We all were joined in one large monologue as we tugged on cherry stems and refilled our glasses with wine or beer.

Most of the dishes required hours of preparation, especially the meats that demanded dry rub the night before. But the dish that required virtually no work - a simple fresh fruit platter - pulled us all together, joined our conversations, and, in essence, brought us back to center. Food forms community. Instead of further food photos, how about photos of the community that formed around that meal?

Easter can truly be summed up in that one word. Lamb.

I apologize to all my vegan/vegetarian friends but I love fresh, local, all-natural lamb. On Saturday, we visited our farm to pick up our Easter meats - a smoked ham from Vermont and this gorgeous boneless leg of lamb also from New England.

The lamb was beautiful. Perfect and exquisite. Still, I decided to do all I could to wrestle the moist flavor from the meat. The night before, I slathered the inside and outside with an herb paste made from fresh herbs (parsley, basil, oregano, sage), lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper. I layered lots of lemon slices inside before tying it up with kitchen string, forming a perfect log.

At 6am on Easter morning, the husband and I rose to quickly get the smoker stoked with wood chips. We placed a tub of marinated water in the bottom of the smoker and gently tucked the lamb onto the top shelf. The water was filled with all sorts of flavoring agents: shallots, garlic, lemon skins and insides, fresh parsley and sage.

After seven hours at a low 200 degrees, the smoke permeated the meat to form a beautiful pink smoke ring. I applauded my husband, along with our seven other guests, and dug in.

Sure, I made loads of other delicious side dishes like white wine braised bok choy, caramelized brussels sprouts and asparagus, onion gratin, spring mache salad and roasted potatoes. And a cute apricot-ginger glazed ham. But those were all just little character actors on the Easter stage. It was all about the moist, flavorful lamb.

I am now dreaming of Summer weekends, smoking meat in the back yard, glasses of crisp white wines and cold beers, long conversations that go into the late evening or early morning, with great friends, under a tent to canvas us from the mosquitos and moonlight. Soon, very soon.

There’s a great spot in London where life is always a beach. The Haymarket Hotel has a fancy bar right by the gigantic pool. We had drinks in a side room, but marveled at the vastness of the pool room, the luscious sofas, the beautiful colors and twinkling lights.

After drinks, we headed next door to an absolutely divine Indian restaurant. Mint Leaf is dark, exotic and oddly familiar. Contrary to Hakkasan (scroll down), Mint Leaf felt more established, more comfortable in its own skin, less inclined to show off. I loved it and we lingered a long while. Of course, the lingering could have had something to do with the seven porn stars that graced our table. Porn star cocktails, that is. This tart mix of vanilla vodka, passion fruit, passao and a side shot of champagne nicely complimented all that spicy food. The photos don’t do it justice. Floating in the martini glass was a little shot of passion fruit puree mixed with brown sugar. Our server recommended we eat the fruit puree, sip the champagne and then sip the tart vodka-passion fruit drink. I wish I could convey the tart, freshing taste. I’ll have to crack the recipe and make them at home.

There are so many reasons to cook. Your reasons may be different than my reasons. But my reasons are mine. I was reminded of why I cook this past weekend.

First, I don’t cook for the food. Let me repeat: I don’t cook for the food. There are no photos of food in this post and that’s purposeful. I certainly love celebrating the fruit of my labors, the prize after hours of chopping and stirring. I also find the photographing of my dishes quite rewarding, even if I still have so many more hours to photograph before I excel at this very special art. But food is really just my medium.

“The Medium is the Message” - something I learned as a journalism student back at Boston University. I am passionate about food and do cook to explore that passion. And perhaps, all these blog posts suggests that “passion for food” is my message. I suppose on some level it is. Passion for food is contagious. I caught it years ago from old friends, new friends and fellow bloggers. But that’s not my reason for cooking. Okay, well, maybe it’s a teeny reason.

I do, however, have a big reason. The big reason I cook is to connect with friends, family and strangers. I cook to foster relationships with people all over the world. From the people I meet online, to the folks who were at my house this past Saturday night, I cook to foster a sense of community, bring people together, and experience something meaningful during those small rare moments when we’re not working or shopping or just getting on with life. Some people travel to feel connected, I cook. It works.

I had a lovely group of people to the house on Saturday. We shucked oysters together. We popped open several bottles of wine together. We laughed and joked while I assembled the next three courses and then we plated everything together. We opened more wine together while starting a fire. We had several helpings of my own personal secret dessert weapon, all together. We had a fine time and one guest remarked, in his mother tongue, about how his people would say the angels were shining down on this particular moment.

I don’t know about the angels, but I know each of my guests shined that night.

My birthday was last week. I won’t pontificate on how old I am. And I definitely won’t get into how I feel like half my life is gone, and that my real life is finally here and just beginning. We all know that life goes on. We grow old and eventually die. So I strive to enjoy the fun stuff, like cooking!

The best part of my birthday is that I didn’t actually have to cook, and I was oddly relieved to come home from work to a little feast warmly prepared by my husband. He hit our favorite Italian butcher on the way home and prepared his version of surf and turf. He seared the Delmonico steaks and then finished them off in the broiler. With a pinch of red pepper flakes, he finished off his own version of shrimp scampi (sans butter). They were sauteed in olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper and those red pepper flakes for a few minutes, then gently placed atop those Delmonico steaks.

Surf and turf really doesn’t need much else, but the husband knows how much I adore brussels sprouts and couldn’t resist cooking up a few. Or a lot. He sprinkled them with olive oil, salt and pepper and then put them in a 350 degree oven for about 25-30 minutes. I look at these photos and want to just return to that night, and swim in those brussels sprouts. The bright green mixed with the crusty caramelized parts just call to me. We have more in the fridge and I may to have whip up a few right now.

Dessert was made up of six glorious cupcakes, all for me, and pictured above. But I could barely make it through one due to all that sugary frosting. These cupcakes were purchased at Baker’s Best, an independent catering business in Newton and Needham, Massachusetts. These treats lasted three days.

We had a great bottle of wine with dinner - a Malbec from Argentina. I just loved that label. Can you see the cat in the ancient drawings used on the label?