I am the kind of person who needs to recover. Give me a task (planning a dinner party, cleaning the fridge, painting my toenails) and I am silently tabulating the time I’ll need to regroup. A lot of thought and intense in the moment energy goes into each of those task. It takes time to fully understand the implications of whatever task I have completed. Post fridge I consider the time a jar of pickles can stay in the fridge. I weigh how often I actually crave a pickle and compare my cravings to the amount of fridge space the Mt. Olive jars take up.
Except here in Dijon we don't have Mt. Olive, we have Maile. They make mustard...it is very good mustard but the pickles have too much tarragon in them. There are some of us out there who are very particular about pickles. I prefer mine with more mustard seeds and garlic and less tarragon, but since I've yet to master pickling I will continue the taste test. For the record there is only on jar of pickles in my refrigerator right now and, umm, five jars of mustard. It is forever a hostess gift.
My dinner guests this week were my first strictly french group. Jim, my fellow Carolinian and fearless leader of Eats 101, was back in town for the weekend and suggested we host a little fête for the folks on JJ Rousseau. Jim would provide the dining space and I would provide the dinner. At his suggestion we decided on a Spanish feast. We are slowly moving towards autumn so I took advantage of the last of the summer's tomatoes to prepare an Andalusian gazpacho, paella, salad with membrillo and manchego, and lemon cream with fresh raspberries.
The evening, despite my worry, was a total success.
