Them Dinners with Nick

Getting Back to Family Meal

My housemate works at a restaurant here in Philly called Talula’s Garden. He helps with daily prep, but his primary cooking responsibility is to make family meal for the back of house staff. He has used that post to learn as much as he possibly can about the building blocks of cooking: stocks, breads, sauces, etc. Yeast starters and rising dough have started hanging out in the corners of our fridge. More than once I’ve come home to the smell of fresh bread and feint traces of flour on the counter, and wished I’d arrived earlier to catch him in the midst of his art. And perhaps that he’d wiped the counter a little better…but that’s neither here nor there. His dedication to complete mastery of the simple things is inspiring.

It’s had me thinking on where Them Dinners went wrong. It was supposed to be about family meal. Specifically, family meal for those of us without families of our own yet, who don’t want to put off the social (soul-cial?) benefits of regular homemade meals and broken bread. So how is a true family experience different from what Them Dinners became?

• Family meals are expansive. My grandmother never had a seat cap at her table. If you had a reason for being there, you were family and you were welcomed.
• Family meals are also participatory. They say there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and the same goes for dinner. Close relatives would arrive early to help my grandmother cook. Acquaintances would bring offerings for the table, and carry table conversation into the kitchen to help with dishes, working up an appetite for dessert. In my immediate family, my brother and I would rotate week to week between prep cook and clean-up for my dad’s elaborate culinary exploits.
• Family meals do not exist primarily to be surprising, daring, or center stage. Sure, they can be a safe place to take risks, but above all else they are reliable, stable, waiting for you.
• Sustained, regular cooking requires an understanding of ingredients, not access to a bottomless catalog of recipes. Food shows and even cutting edge food blogs have amplified the recipe so much that skill seems reserved for those who have given their careers to the line or a culinary school. Screw that.

I am much bigger fan of goals than resolutions. In 2013 one big goal is to set Them Dinners right. That means a commitment to weekly dinners, an expansive guest list welcoming of friends new and old, a focus on learning the fundamentals of cooking, and trust that most of my family of friends don’t want to be that uncle who brings nothing and falls asleep on the couch after dinner. Though, like family, he’s welcome too.

next… Them Dinners 2.0 

previous… Hi, My Name Is Them Dinners and I Have a Problem

Hi, My Name Is Them Dinners and I Have a Problem. 

Them Dinners, as it existed when I hosted guests for the last time in September 2012, was sick. Conceptually. So much so that I couldn’t even bring myself to post pictures of the lackluster gnocchi, or sit down to write something about table conversation, which felt forced despite a genuinely wonderful group of friends. Something felt disingenuous, and I think we all instinctively felt what it was. It had become a production. An aspiring Food Network show without a video camera (though I considered getting one, an idea that rightfully appalled my friends). Life imitating art imitating life.

But like most insidious and destructive behaviors, it had a lot of support. Well-intentioned enablers. People loved the idea, and the execution seemed logical enough: First five guests and no more to keep the table small and prices down; recipes ahead of time to inform guests with allergies or preferences; and a blog to capture the fleeting creations and conversations of a dinner party. I suppose the end result looked like something worthy of some praise, and it was often fun. Quietly though, the means were compromising the end. Old friends were turned away because the seating cap had been reached, sometimes by new acquaintances. To go above it meant dinner served on laps, an unmanageable kitchen, and last minute runs for extra ingredients. Against my extroverted nature, I was stingy and judicious about who I added to the email pool of potential guests. Dinners were also becoming increasingly expensive and labor intensive, often requiring a full 12 hours from shopping to table. This is not to mention the joyless drudgery that had become composing menus, authoring evites, and producing engaging blog content.

And the cooking. Them Dinners was supposed to be an opportunity to develop and broaden my cooking skills. Yet I found myself as much a slave to recipes in July as I had been in February. Food Network and food porn culture has imprinted this mantra on us: food should be exciting, daring, sexy, and always surprising. I have combed websites for the tools to make this performance happen again and again, all along retaining very little understanding of the art or alchemy. There is a time and a place for these daring leaps out of your culinary comfort zone, but consistent family meals are not meant to be events, let alone magic acts.

next… Getting Back to Family Meal

There were other ingredients of course, but let’s focus on the cheese for a moment.

Do you have any idea how giddy buying $60 worth of artisanal cheese will make you? I don’t mean just buying a bunch of cheese; I mean buying it and having a plan for it. It’s not an ungodly amount of cheese, but it has enough of a heft in the bag to say, “Psst…this is pretty ridiculous.” Last Sunday I walked home from the Italian Market feeling like I was involved in a happy conspiracy, and grinned at the thought of the wide-eyes and smiles from my coconspirators when they eventually laid eyes on my haul.

Now all told, with black truffle from Claudio, fresh bacon from Di Bruno Bros, and a routine trip to Whole Foods for ingredients not available in the Italian Market, my receipts easily crested $150. Split across the 9 people who attended, that’s about $16.00 a head, with plenty left over for several more pies.

I have been asked a few times why I don’t take cash from my guests to offset the burden. Couple of reasons…

1. It’s just awkward in practice to ask for cash.
2. It changes the tone of the transaction to one of fee-for-service even if we all understand that’s not what’s happening.
3. Everyone brings something. I think this is really important, and some great dishes (stuffed grape leaves what what! I’ll get that dish back to you some day Kimiko) and beverages (big ups for bringing the Spanish wine Jessica!) have been contributions by friends.
4. I get a lot back already. Time with friends, lessons in cooking and hosting, and leftovers (sometimes).

That being said, I can let my menus get a little out of hand. Recently I met with Brad Baer of Zokos (www.zokos.com), a service he likens to the Kickstarter of dinner parties. We had a great talk about the above points, and how to balance that with a financially sustainable weekly dinner. I’m thinking about pursuing a model where I try to cook more modest Them Dinners weekly, and really blow it out with a Zokos-sponsored three course theme dinner once monthly. I’ll let you know how it goes. In the mean time, here are some reasons why I don’t mind footing the bill:

Them Dinners is having a bit of an identity crisis. Last week I attended Them Dinners With Steph, the first Them Dinners Not By Nick, just up the block from my South Street neighborhood. I watched as the eponymous hostess exhibited none of the stress and frantic scrambling that have so often been visited upon my kitchen as guests arrive.

It got me thinking about the origins of Them Dinners, and how I may be diverging from the spirit of the idea in the pursuit of Michael Bay-sized themes and menus.

It’s great to challenge yourself with a new dish, but really, what I want is a sustainable way to cook and see friends on a regular basis. Them Dinners is supposed to be the 21st century calendar version of that old adage that when you are lost in the woods you should stand still and let people find you. Only, when you find me I have a ton of food ready.

When it comes to identity of TD, the terms “dinner party” and “supper club” have been bandied about lately. I’ll let this coifed gentleman in the important sweater battle that one out:

http://youtu.be/Fie8-vVIAoE

The trick is—and I hope he would agree—Them Dinners is neither. It’s a sustainable effort to keep in touch and keep well fed; not a series of lavish parties. I’m resolved to keep that way.

Though…the occasionally elaborate Dinner Party (Supper Club?) menu will probably continue make appearances.

Back at it! On June 3rd, when I return to cooking for the first 5 friends to RSVP I’ll be serving an assortment of mezze, or small plates. I’m revisiting small plates again June 26th for a collaboration with blog-after-my-own-heart Curated Table featuring Spanish tapas. But with the hot, humid weather in Philly lately I cannot get my mind out of the Mediterranean, except for the occasional jaunt to the gutter. Here’s what I sent out to my local friends just now (I always list ingredients to accommodate any dietary restrictions):

“What a great idea! I might have to steal it!”

I have heard these words from a bunch of people on numerous occasions, in reference to the way I handle invitations for Them Dinners. If I were this girl and you were stealing my idea I’d be pissed. Instead, I’m this guy:

…and, in case you haven’t read my About Page, I WANT YOU to steal my idea. Hell, it’s just Evite people. But to my knowledge, and much to the disappointment of my growling stomach, no one has yet to do so.

Is it intimidating? Try a fancy grilled cheese night! A friend of mine described last night her one biggest dinner party success was a night of fancy grilled cheese. Gorgonzola and apples were involved. It’s all downhill for her cooking now I guess, but you still have that grilled cheese night ahead of you my friend!

Is it too much of a commitment? Try a one night stand! Forget this weekly dinner night stuff. You don’t need to make cooking your new sig other. Come up with one simple menu (see above) and either invite 5 people you know can make plans more than 24 hours ahead of time, or try the whole “first five to respond” routine. 

Are you ashamed? Try getting over yourself! Do your kitchen, dining area, and dishes harken back to your junior year of college? I have been eating this problem gadget by gadget over the course of this whole endeavor, but from the start it was really apparent that people don’t much care when there’s a home cooked meal in front of them. And those friends of yours who already have the tricked out “adult” kitchen? They probably don’t use it anyway.

Give it a shot and email me about your experience at themdinners@gmail.com. 

For the last Them Dinners, the infamous Mad Menu affair, I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew. Or cook for others to chew. Serving 20-30 people, I wanted to go with a combination of light and heavy hors d’oeuvres but had no idea how to manage the logistics. Fortunately, at my day job I work next to a couple of stellar meeting planners who handle our medical education live events. This photo of them has been altered to protect their identities: 

The Meeting Planners Who Shall Not Be Named had a couple of great tips that I hereby bequeath unto you, dear reader:

1. Planning Counts: A good general rule for passed hors d’oeuvres is 4-5 pieces per person per hour. If dinner is implied, go with 6-7. This is what I went with, meaning I was aiming for around 210 total apps (not 210 of each item). Bread tends to be the most filling and cheapest way to go, so anything on a cracker or crostini is your friend. 

2. Thoughtful Nudging: You may have noticed that I mentioned those numbers correlate to passed hors d’oeuvres. Unfortunately our front-of-house staff came down with a bad case of “we don’t exist” so that wasn’t an option. This is a shame since it’s the best way to control the flow. As an alternative, I nixed plates and set only cocktail napkins. It’s easy to load a small plate up with 3-4 appetizers in one go, whereas cocktail napkins are pretty much the bane of the fat kid’s existence. 

3. Deliberate Placement: Along the same lines as above, consider how the placement of your appetizer table and bar will affect movement. Originally I had both crammed in the same room in the back of our narrow South Philly row house. An hour into the party I moved the bar station toward the front of the house and watched as people magically started using the whole space. It also gave people a reason to cool it on the hors d’oeuvres for a bit.

There you have it. Thanks meeting planners!

No you are!