THE REPERTOIRE: Rules for a Dinner Party

The third in a series on the interplay of food and style, with Blake Royer, of the exceptional culinary website The Paupered Chef. We've already dispatched with breakfast in bed and a working lunch. Next up: the dinner party.

To say you’re an accomplished character is putting it lightly. That time you sumitted Kilimanjaro during a snow storm. The month you took a vow of silence. The day all the stoplights turned green.

You’ve been places, you’ve seen things, and you’ve got most situations in the bag. But the thought of hosting a dinner party? Crippling. Like trying to throw a punch under water. We're not poking fun, here; there are Nobel Prize winners who would buckle at the thought of preparing a meal for friends and having to sit there and face them while they eat it.

Maybe it's time to learn. Or at least, have a recipe in the arsenal that’s not chili.

We present: An improvised guide to hosting.

The guests will be as calm as you are. There’s no easier way to deflate a party by being nervous, which of course makes it even harder to be relaxed. You set the tone, and if you’re unflappable, so your guests will be. Speaking of which...

On drinking: With moderation and good timing, a drink or two can take the edge off. Sip while you cook, to give yourself a head start, but then cut it off. You want the right level of alcohol to relax, but not so much that you become incompetent (or, god forbid, incontinent). When guests arrive, everything will be jolly. Give them something immediately to put in their hands to soften your lead. Then, before you get sloppy and turn into a lousy conversationalist, pull back the reins. Put another way: Drink early, but not often.

Also, wear a tie.

Roast something. Inviting people to eat requires skill, timing, and artfulness. Roasting takes tremendous pressure off one of those things; with a thermometer and a few basic tips, the timing of the meal becomes far more forgiving.

On toasting: Let's bring it back. Toasts are a delicate alchemy. They require a strange combination of humor, sincerity and unspoken permission from your audience. They’re hard. Which is why people respect a good one. You have to make them laugh, steer a wide berth around cliches, and remain earnest. The formula: begin with something polite, transition to something clever, and end with something true. Best bet is one you’ve spent enough time preparing that it seems effortless. But really, all that's required is a simple and genuine thanks for showing up.

Embrace the performance. Dinner parties are funny things. People are watching themselves and watching each other, and that’s okay. People are watching themselves and watching each other, and that’s okay. The cast of a dinner party will always be new (if it’s just close friends over for a meal, it’s not a dinner party), so the dynamic is unfamiliar. A little mystery is a good thing.

Never mention your own cooking. Whether you’re fishing for compliments or lamely apologizing for the “dry meat” you’re lowering the tone. Take Julia Child’s advice: “You should never apologize at the table. People will think, ‘Yes, it’s really not so good.’” If the food is great, it speaks for itself. If it sucks, don’t mention it. They won’t remember.

Greetings and farewells. Much like giving a good compliment, hellos and goodbyes are best when simple and heartfelt. You’re excited they’re here, you’re so pleased they enjoyed themselves, and you hope to see them soon.

And if you’re the guest, bring a gift. Hosting a dinner party is a sacrifice of time, money and energy, so offer something that shows you appreciate the effort. Booze always fits the bill. Though if you’d like to take it to the next level, bring something that reminds you of the host. It shows you’ve paid attention. Bonus points for a handwritten note the next day.

And now, about that roast...

In Italy, porchetta is made by stuffing a whole pig with garlic, fennel, wild herbs, and heavy amounts of salt and pepper; it's then rolled up and spit-roasted slowly over wood. Thankfully, it's almost as delicious on a smaller scale. Serve the pork shoulder with creamy polenta, also something than can be made in advance. A standard for the repertoire. File under: You Can’t Go Wrong With Rustic Italian.

PORCHETTA

Adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rogers*

For the pork:

• 1 3-pound boneless pork shoulder roast
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 1 tablespoon capers, roughly chopped
• 1 tablespoon lemon zest (no white pith), from 3-4 lemons
• 3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
• 12 fresh sage leaves, crushed and coarsely chopped
• 2 sprigs fresh rosemary, leaves stripped and chopped
• 2 teaspoon fennel seeds, crushed
• 2 teaspoons black pepper
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 bulbs fennel
• 1/4 cup dry vermouth

For the polenta:

• 5 cups water
• 1 cup polenta or cornmeal
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 3 tablespoons butter
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

*Possibly one of the best cookbooks in the world to learn from. Highest recommendation.

Lay the pork out on a cutting board and examine the natural seams in the meat. Using your fingers and the tip of a knife as needed, excavate the seams to expose as much internal surface area of the pork as possible, carefully freeing the muscles along their natural separations. Season the pork inside and out with salt.

In a small bowl, mix together the capers, lemon zest, garlic, sage, rosemary, fennel seeds, and black pepper. Pack the herb mixture into the crevices of the pork, rubbing it into the meat and ensuring the seasoning reaches all the exposed surfaces. Using kitchen string (or if your roast came with a net, use it) to tie the roast back into its original shape. It should take 4-5 strings crosswise and one lengthwise to accomplish this (for detailed tying instructions, see this post on making lamb pancetta). An even shape will also cook evenly.

Cover, refrigerate, and allow the seasoning to penetrate the meat, at least 1 day and up to 3.

When it's time to cook:

Heat an oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a large (14-inch) ovenproof skillet or roasting pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat until shimmering. Add the pork (it should sizzle) and transfer to the oven. Roast, uncovered, for an hour (the pork should begin to color; if it hasn't, up the temperature to 400.)

While the pork roasts, bring the water to boil in a large saucepan, then pour in the polenta in a slow stream while whisking to prevent clumping. Once it's all added, add the salt and reduce heat to low, stirring often as it thickens and the cornmeal becomes creamy, 25-30 minutes. If it appears too dry and the cornmeal is not yet soft, add more water and continue cooking; you can always cook it longer to evaporate any excess water. Once soft, turn off the heat until ready to serve. To finish, reheat and stir in butter and Parmesan.

Meanwhile, halve the fennel lengthwise and cut out the core. Put the halves cut-side down and slice thinly crosswise. Toss with enough olive oil and salt to coat it nicely.

Once the pork has been in an hour, use tongs to flip it over and tuck the sliced fennel into the roasting pan around the porchetta, tossing it well in the roasting juices. Return the roast to the oven and continue cooking for another 1 to 1 1/2 hours, to an internal temperature of 145º F.

Remove the pork to a cutting board and keep it loosely covered in foil while it rests for at least 10 minutes (the meat will reabsorb the juices, ensuring it's as moist as possible). Put the roasting pan on the stovetop (with the fennel still in it), pour or spoon off any excess fat, and turn the heat to high. Add the vermouth to the pan, using the liquid to scrape up any caramelized bits left from the pork in the roasting pan. Cook, stirring often, until the fennel is soft and caramelized and the vermouth has mostly evaporated.

Slice the pork and serve with the polenta, along with some of the caramelized fennel and rich pan juices. Finish with some of the fennel fronds that (ideally) came attached to the fennel bulb. Serve.

Prep photos by Seth Putnam. Dinner photos by Ryan Plett.

THE REPERTOIRE: Working Lunch

This is the second installment of the "tiny cookbook" Blake Royer (from The Paupered Chef) is producing for us. If you're just joining us: The idea was born over drinks at a tucked-away Chicago bar with the idea that, in addition to knowing how to dress, a man should master a couple of go-to recipes. We're preparing one for each meal of the day: breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert—and styling Blake in the process. The recipes will be constrained by situation (e.g. lunch while working from home), budget (e.g. $5, or maybe what you've got in the fridge) and time (e.g. you've got 10 minutes to throw an elegant breakfast together before heading to work.)

First, we did breakfast. Now: Lunch.

On Blake in the home office: Oxford shirt purchased in Buenos Aires for 75 pesos (joke's on them, because that's $25 US) by Felix; belt by Cause and Effect; khaki chinos ($20 sale) by Levi's; mocassins by Quoddy.

You’re a hard worker. Unfortunately for you, that means you don’t always give lunch its due. That, or you order something “fast” a little too often, a one-way track to needing bigger pants in a couple of years.

We get it; it’s tempting. You've got a good workflow going, and no time to waste on a leisurely lunch out of the office. But you need a bit of fuel to be doing your best work. But in the interests of adequate fuel (and your waistband) you should really think about whipping up something at home.

Here, then, is a dish that's quick to prepare and easy on the pocketbook. This is one that will take a slight amount of foresight—which is fine, because a man should know how to plan ahead.

A few thoughts from Blake about his lunch philosophy:

I’ve worked enough days in my life, from my desk at home to mind-numbing office temp gigs, to have developed some theories on lunch. To me, the working lunch is a series of balances: it should be fast, yet not fast-food; it should be a break from work, but not so indulgent you can’t get moving again; it should be fulfilling, but not a cause of sluggishness. Lunch should work for you, but so often it’s the other way around.

Here's the idea: Work ahead, do a little bit of planning, and go vegetarian. And above all keep in mind: Healthy doesn’t have to mean it tastes like cardboard.

Start with a hearty grain, ideally with a high protein content—like farro, brown rice, or quinoa—and pair it with a vegetable, a touch of olive oil for slickness, and some kind of dressing. Sometimes just lemon juice works. Other times I rely on my stash of homemade vinaigrette that keeps for weeks in the fridge (speaking of, you should never buy salad dressing again after learning that recipe). But I’m most proud of my secret two-punch you see here: soft goat cheese and homemade pesto. It will blow your mind.

A few tips that make this a breeze:

• Cook all the grain at once on Sunday, and stock up your fridge with a bunch of vegetables for the week. This recipe uses zucchini, but anything will work. Whatever you choose, it can be sauteed or roasted with salt, pepper, and garlic.
• Make tons of pesto ahead of time and freeze it in ice cube trays. It’ll keep for at least a few months and be on hand whenever you need to whip it out (for tossing with hot pasta, for stirring into a soup, or spreading on some toast for a snack).
• Have goat cheese in the fridge. It stays fresh for a while.

Delicious, nutritious lunch is never more than ten minutes away. Now get back to work.

Farro with Pesto and Goat Cheese

• 1/4 pound farro
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 clove garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
• 2 zucchini
• 1 ounce fresh goat cheese, crumbled
• 3 tablespoons pesto (recipe follows)

Cost: $2.15

Makes: One serving

Prep time: 10 minutes (plus 30 minutes or so the Sunday before)

1. In a pot large enough to comfortably hold it, cover the farro (or other grain) with cold water. Bring to a boil and season the water with salt; it should be pleasantly briny but not overly salty. Cook until tender but still chewy, 20-30 minutes. Drain well.
2. While the farro is cooking, halve the zucchini lengthwise and use a spoon to scrape out the seeds. Cut into half-moons.
3. Heat the olive oil in a medium skillet until it shimmers. Add the zucchini pieces and garlic and sauté, stirring often, until the garlic is golden and the zucchini is tender but not mushy, 3-5 minutes.
4. In a bowl, combine the hot farro, pesto, half the goat cheese, and the zucchini. Toss to combine—the heat of the farro should gently melt the goat cheese. Top with the remaining goat cheese and eat.

Homemade Pesto

1 clove garlic

1/4 teaspoon salt

A heaping handful of fresh basil

Olive oil as needed

2 tablespoons pine nuts

1/4 cup grated hard cheese (such as Parmesan or Pecorino)

Combine one of the garlic cloves with the salt in a mortar and pestle. Mash the garlic into a paste with the salt. Roughly chop the basil leaves and add them to the mixture, pounding them into a smooth-ish paste, then pound in the olive oil a little at a time to bring everything together into a sauce. Continue with the pine nuts and cheese and pound until smooth. Taste and season with salt, if needed.

NOTES ON PESTO: Alternatively, you could do this whole process in a small food processor, or quadruple the recipe and do it in a blender. But if you do that much (which we recommend), leave out the pine nuts and cheese before freezing in small quantities. When the time comes, defrost and mix in the cheese and pine nuts fresh.

THE GOOD GUYS: Blake in Bucktown

Meet Blake.

Blake loves writing. He loves food. Hence, he writes about food. A talented wordsmith and certified chef, he brilliantly combines the two in his professional life (magazine freelancer) and personal life with a blog called The Paupered Chef.

Blake and I get together for drinks almost weekly at a tucked-away neighborhood bar in Bucktown for the sole purpose of shooting the shit over cheap booze and reveling in the simple pleasures of Chicago. During these breaks from real-life responsibility, we mull over everything from style to food; business plans to literature; success to failure; and, of course, our unfinished ambitions.

But more than anything, Blake is full of thought. He considers everything carefully. And when he speaks, it's not out of impulse. His words carry weight. And that's one of many reasons I'm glad to call him a friend.

A few words about what Blake's got on:

The belt, a distinctive eye-catcher, was a gift from good friend Max Wastler (of All Plaidout). It was in fact Max who introduced us over a quick drink at The Gage.

The bag, a Levenger, a gift from his dad eight years ago. Perfect for carrying plenty of reading material—and Blake's an avid reader. The first few times we ran into each other, he sent me home with a couple of thick books by Fyodor Dostoevsky and Paul Auster. In turn, I loaned him Boss by Mike Royko. (When am I going to get that back, by the way?)

The shoes, hand-sewn in Maine.

"A week before I went on my honeymoon, I knew I wanted these shoes. The folks over at Quoddy were nice enough to rush the shipping ensure my travels would be comfortable and classic," Blake says.

So here's the deal: Over the next few weeks, we'll be teaming up with Blake to produce a tiny cookbook of sorts. There will be four (count 'em) recipes—one for each meal of the day—that will be constrained by situation (e.g. lunch while working from home), budget (e.g. $5, or maybe what you've got in the fridge) and time (e.g. you've got 10 minutes to throw an elegant breakfast together before heading to work.)

This is what you can expect: Beautiful photography, delicious food, and a few practical meals every guy should have in his repertoire. And it'll all be styled.

Check back next Wednesday for the first installment.

On Blake: Slim olive chino by Wings & Horns; blue button-down by Gitman Brothers; summer gingham tie by J.Crew factory; hoof pick leather belt by Hickorees; "New Wayfayer" in tortoise by Rayban; leather satchel by Levenger, given to him by his father.