It’s funny the compromises we make in the kitchen. Especially when other diners are involved.
You’ll buy the cheap cocoa when you’re cooking for yourself but spring for the Valrhona when you make a birthday cake.
Or you’ll make creme angliase from scratch when company is coming but you’ll melt vanilla ice cream when it’s “only family.”
And don’t get me started about garnish. Or which tablecloth I use or whether said tablecloth will be ironed.
It’s fascinating to observe how many different ways the preparation and sharing of food echoes the nuances of your relationships, and how subtle distinctions and economies of effort play out. I thought about this this past Saturday when I had David and Laura over for dinner. It seemed like A good way to kick off the year, and a good way to start to emerge from the antisocial shell I’ve been hiding in for the last few months.