Is it possible that the most satisfying meals are those that are not meals at all?
Thick-sliced charcuterie and slabs of cheese pressed into rough-hewn bread gnawed porchside; three spoonfuls of warm leftover risotto punchy with mushrooms; the last drumstick of the chicken drowned in a slick of pan-swirled gravy. It's messy, it's everywhere and man is it good.
Orangette takes us there -- to a long-ago Sunday supper and a cook over the moon about the arrival of new potatoes at the market. Garlic aioli was whipped up in a flurry. Friends were called. Wine was chilled. Potatoes were dished up just warm, sparkling with sea salt and ready for dunking: an astonishing triumvirate of starch, fat and salt. Molly Wizenberg applied her sauce gribiche (a glorified homemade mayo) with a liberal hand to cold chicken, asparagus and anything else within reach. In an era when the thought of a dinner party can provoke a gourmand-sized headache, it's hard not to love the notion of one sauce for all, and the most un-meal-like of meals.
[Via Orangette]
