Whoops. My friend Becki and I may have started something. Wednesday night dinner parties at the ole Château Bimbeaux. Last night was the second. And the idea seems to be snowballing. Here's how it works:
Becki saw my house on Halloween. She cooed about the formidable kitchen, saying how much she'd love to cook in it. I replied that she's welcome to any time, and why don't we set up a dinner party next week? Done deal.
So Becki comes over and is the Head Chef. I, and anyone else who wishes to lend a hand, are her Kitchen Bitches.
I made another four gallon pot of mulled wine (selfishly, because I love the leftovers for the next week. Two minutes in the microwave and you have a glass of Xmas jollity!) I also threw together my world famous spinach/onion dip.
Nalcée toiled away at a task from a cookbook, making dessert crêpes with strawberries and blueberries picked at a friend's farm in Mississippi and other stuff in them. Alas, he had to gad off to band practice long before dessert, so I cooked the crêpes later and informed him they were delicious upon his return.
Becki made a vat of gorgeous chicken broccoli alfredo.
Ricky Lane, who, I was informed last night, has a goddamn wine show on the Lifetime Women In Peril channel, toted along $300 bottles of wine, champagne, dessert wine, etc., and I have never felt actual physical and emotional attraction to a liquid before last night. I have a crush on one particular bottle of reserve. We consummated our relationship last night.
We try to keep the numbers somewhat manageable, hovering around ten guests. I'd like to give all my friends a chance to come by and feel the luuuuv, and let anyone who wanted to be Chef have a stab as well.
Next Wednesday, Ricky Lane has expressed desire to be Bad Ass Momma Chef. Anyone who knows Ricky Lane knows that it is not a night to be missed. I hereby extend e-invites to the few of you I know who live in New Orleans. angeliska, misterchurch, renlil, neshenti? You free next Wednesday around 9 or 10? Please R.S.V.P.
The guests departed around 3am. Filled with good food and a night dripping in bonhomie, I blasted the Mozart Requiem and cleaned the kitchen and dining room, thinking, god damn, why haven't I been entertaining more often here?
Ten people's horror stories of litter boxes go so well with mature wine, don't you find?