“Thank you. And thanks for coming tonight. Hopefully it wasn’t too weird. Maybe we can all hang out again. Lynne really is a good person. I think if she gets to know you, it will be less awkward.”
“Hey, I’m all in with you, my tall friend. That now includes these two women from your past. So no worries.” She winks and pops out of the car, heading into her building, taking the steps on the front stoop two at a time. I check my watch. It’s almost ten. I do have a long cooking day tomorrow at the Farbers’. I should probably go home, walk the dog, and have an early night. But then my phone pings.
Hello, sweet girl. Hope you had a good night. I’m about to leave my pal Freddie’s now that the game is over. Should I go home or come to your place?
And suddenly all thoughts of an early night fly right out the window.
I have a fluffy beast that needs a walk and a Nutella babka that isn’t going to eat itself for breakfast. What do you think?
I think I will see you in 15.
Looks like the night is about to take a turn for the better.
Thirteen
It takes me most of the morning, but I get Lawrence’s kitchen cabinets, fridge, and freezer completely cleaned out and purged of expired goods and items otherwise past their prime. He’s in Palm Springs with pals for the next two weeks, and it’s always easier to take care of this when he isn’t around to see that I’ve relieved him of ten-year-old cans of foie gras paté and dusty jars of jams and pickled walnuts and such that he brought back from travels abroad. I wipe down the shelves of the fridge with a mild bleach and water solution, put new paper pads into the drawers, and put back the condiments and beverages that are still fine. I’ll restock him with staples and basics for breakfasts and lunches before he returns. I replenish his spice jars with fresh contents, having done my end-of-the-year trip to The Spice House on Wells Street. Some people believe in spring cleaning, but when spring finally arrives in Chicago I want to be outside enjoying the weather and getting some much-needed vitamin D, not stuck inside. I do a purge between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so that I start the new year with a clean house and a freezer and fridge free of old sad items, ready to be refilled with delectables acquired during the festive season. I dump all my herbs and spices and replace with fresh, making for some very fragrant garbage.
This past weekend I finished the work at my house. I packed up all my spring and summer clothes into their tubs, looking wistfully at my old tub labeled Bearaphernalia, the serious cold-weather gear I collected over the years that allowed me to attend the December and January Bears games with my dad and Uncle Buddy.
Shawn and I are going to the game this weekend with some friends of his, but we’ll be in a skybox, well insulated from the whipping Chicago winds off the lake and any snow that might arrive, so the tub is staying untouched for another season. Although I did dig out my Jimbo Covert jersey to wear, a real one that he wore in a game, which my dad got me. I swapped out my light cotton sheets and blankets for the flannel sheets and down comforter that will get me through the winter. Took down the light sheer curtains and replaced them with the heavy velvet ones that block the drafts. It felt so good that I came over here today to take care of Lawrence’s kitchen so that he will come back to some of the freshness I’m enjoying at my house, and the place will be in perfect shape for his annual New Year’s Eve celebration.
I love this time of year. For most people in the food industry, the holiday season is fraught with horrors. Demanding clients, missing your own celebrations to attend to the celebrations of strangers, long hours and short days making for depressing weeks. You leave the house when it is still dark and go home in the same gloom and it is as if there is no sun to shine. I probably won’t see Marcy at all till the new year; her time will be so overbooked that any hours she isn’t working she’ll be sleeping.
But for me, this is my favorite time of year. Thanksgiving started the fun, my holy grail, and now I’ve got the Farbers’ holiday party this weekend to prep for, after which they will head out of town for winter vacation for two weeks. This year they are going to visit Shelby’s folks in Miami, with a detour for a few days to Disney World. They invited me to join them, but I declined, saying that I had promised to help Teresa do Christmas in light of her injury. Shelby didn’t pry, but I know she suspects there is more to my sticking around than that, and she isn’t wrong. Shawn will be in town until Christmas Eve, and then he will be in North Carolina visiting his folks until the thirtieth, but he is coming back for Lawrence’s party.
When everything is squared away, I settle down at the kitchen table to make some notes. This year Lawrence wants to go small and elegant for New Year’s. He has invited my mom and Aunt Claire, me and Shawn, his dear friends Michael and Jerry, who are currently hosting him in Palm Springs, his other dear friends Todd and Joel, who will be hosting him in Sedona in January, and his best girlfriend, Esme. He said I’m only allowed to cook if I can do stuff that allows me to be more guest than chef, so I’ve been working on a menu that relies heavily on items that are served cold or at room temp, or can be made ahead and reheated. Lucky for me, some of my favorite things can be done this way, and I think I have a fun retro-inspired menu that should please Lawrence and keep me from being a slave to the kitchen. We’ll start with oysters on the half shell and homemade salt-and-pepper potato chips, just to whet the appetites. Then a wedge salad with homemade ranch dressing and crumbled peppered bacon. For the main course, a slow-roasted prime rib, twice-baked potatoes, creamed spinach, tomato pudding baked into tomato halves, and fresh popovers instead of bread. For dessert, the world’s most perfect chocolate cream pie.
Marcy and I went on a Sunday boondoggle to Milwaukee last year and had lunch at this terrific gastropub called Palomino, and while the whole meal was spectacular, notably the fried chicken, the chocolate cream pie was life changing for us both. Marcy used her pastry-chef wiles to get the recipe, and we both love any excuse to make it. It’s serious comfort food, and I can’t think of a better way to ring in the New Year.
We’ll serve buffet-style, so other than carving the meat and cutting the pie, I’ll have very little to do except sit at dinner and hope that this is the right way to introduce Shawn to my family. I got very nervous when Lawrence said he wanted to include Mom and Aunt Claire, since it will mean fessing up to having a dating life. But then I decided that a small group of loving friends on a festive night would make for some good buffering so that poor Shawn doesn’t end up feeling like he is being interrogated too much. I’m going to tell them when I see them tonight.
My phone pings just as I am locking up Lawrence’s apartment. It’s Lynne.
I need you. Can you come to the apartment?
Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. Lynne never asks for help.