The Ryndex

Sure, and life is full of cross-therapeutic activities. If I’m not the most well-adusted person you know, then you must know pretty well-adjusted people, for I have had extensive dinner therapy last weekend.

It started with a cookbook of elegant apéros — finger foods and hors d’oeuvres. I suggested to The Italians that it would be interesting to put together a dinner party of only well-prepared (and well-adjusted) pretty little things to munch on. They agreed, and so we divided up the tasks over beers.

The therapy comes from finishing the chores that have been dragging out for weeks in the apartment. Vacuuming, picking up papers and putting them away, shopping for groceries, shaving, dusting and scouring. All of the neglected picking-up is picked up and placed — or at least hidden, which is a sort of therapy on it’s own.

And that’s not even including the cooking. I made parmesan lace chips, which are simple enough for any idiot while looking impressive. Mix grated parmesan cheese with a few chopped walnuts and drop pinches on parchment paper. Top with thyme and put in oven (setting: hot) until golden. Take out of oven. Anyone can do it and everyone should, it’s exciting!

I was also responsible for the bread, so I headed out to buy the best baguette in Paris. Literally. It’s not just a sale pitch; there’s a yearly contest and the winner supplies bread to the President of the Republic. Last year the boulangerie Le Four d’Augustin won. It is, in fact, noticeably good bread and it’s not significantly more expensive than other not-best baguettes.

I also finally bought a toaster, to make little toasts for Antonio’s sauces. He was making a tapenade which is a black olive and garlic paste, a creamy cheese spread, and a spicy vegetable dip.

I prepared the vegetables, and I prepared the hell out of them. I made a colourful roaster full of raw vegetables — celery and carrot sticks, broccoli, peppers of all colours, radishes, mushrooms and cocktail tomatoes. Vegetables take a long time to prepare, but you’re waving a knife around (and screaming like a howler monkey) so it counts as therapy. As does nanaimo bar preparation, thanks to the proximity to chocolate.

I killed a second bird with the same chocolate stone for the nanaimo bars, by preparing glasses for the dessert cocktail. The goal was to have carefully drizzled chocolate inside the glasses, but they turned out mostly smeared. I figured out the trick at the end — use a large wooden spoon dipped into the molten chocolate and let it start to slide off in a thin thread of chocolate. Then whip around the thread, not the spoon. That’ll drizzle your chocolate real good.

I put the glasses to chill in the crisper and mixed the mudslides (Kahlua, Bailey’s, vodka and cream in equal amounts).

I made 36 toothpicks of green olives, mozzarella and half tomatoes served with pesto on the side. A good pesto will list the percentage of basil, and will not contain potato or any oil but olive oil, or any nut but pine nuts. Amusingly enough, the best pesto I found was a French brand (Gault-Millau) — all of the Italian imports had cheaper replacement ingredients at the same price! I had some fresh basil, so I chopped it up and added it to make super-premium pesto, which is a totally cheating way to make your store-bought pesto look home-made.

The mozzarella was not just real mozzarella, but real REAL mozzarella. I found a little place that sells mozzarella da bufala, which means that it’s not made from cow milk.

And finally, grilled chicken skewers with satay sauce or teriyaki sauce. I had to borow the indoor electric grill, but it was so nice to use that I might end up getting one of my own.

The Italians also brought a zucchini tart, three spaghetti pies, which are delicious and can be eaten with the fingers, and a tuna spread (a family recipe!)

We were seven in total, and barely made a dent on the food. This part is my favourite, the conversation therapy. I like these people, the wine was nice and the ambiance was very warm. It feels really good — quite an accomplishment.

In conclusion, some of us took the leftovers to a picnic on the Pont des Arts the next day, which was much the same thing but with singing German students.