November is the last month that Conde Nast will publish Gourmet
Magazine. The ending, its Thanksgiving issue, is bittersweet
and complex – how can we be thankful when we’re losing such a beloved
American icon, and, yet, Gourmet gets to go out with a bang, issuing
arguably its greatest and most-anticipated issue of the year.

Like so many other home and professional cooks, I’m
mourning the loss of Gourmet. The loss of those frissons of excitement
I felt when it appeared in my mailbox, loss of the relaxing moments I
would spend, lazily browsing for intriguing and innovative recipes,
loss of the recipes themselves, which did more to inspire me in the
few months that I was a subscriber than the ocean of cooking content
available in print, on the web, and on TV.

I’ve regaled you, dear reader, a few times with some of my more clumsy
and amusing kitchen mishaps, but, thanks to a small dinner party I
threw recently, I have a whole cadre of new tales to tell, which, if
all goes according to plan, will put any fearful hostess-wannabe at
ease about their ability to host lovely, entertaining dinners.

I’m going to Tarantino this tale and start at the end – plates licked
clean, full bellies, and lots of laughter – otherwise, a successful
evening. Now, let’s start at the beginning, and you’ll get a real feel
for what a disaster in the kitchen I am….

The weekend is almost here, and I figure we could all use a liberal dose of HAPPINESS right about now. Maybe you’re cranky from work, the lack of beach weather (it goes that way sometimes in October), or just because you’ve stubbed your toe 5 times in the last 3 days…. well, these cookies are easily the best cure.

I dubbed them “Happiness Cookies” the first time I made them – they are instantly cheering, sunny, warm, and unbelievably delicious. The only sad thing about them is when you get down to the last 1 or 2 of a batch. Luckily, more can be whipped up in about 45 minutes, including baking time.

Every food blogger has their own reasons for engaging in the odd behaviors, rituals, and self-disciplines that go into maintaining an active food blog – apologizing to loved ones for consistently serving cold food because you needed time to photograph it, rarely cooking the same thing twice because you want to be able to make a post out of something new, timing each part of a recipe’s preparation, in order to give an accurate estimate of the preparation time – it’s all a bit nutty.

Some of us do it because it’s an escape – a place that is our on, but that we share with the thousands (millions?) of food blog readers, some hope to become famous food writers, and some, like me, enjoy the idea of keeping a flexible, updatable library of our favorite recipes (and, yes, I secretly dream of being a famous food writer, as well – with realistic expectations, of course.)

hospitality |ˌhäspiˈtalitē| the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.

It has been said that great service can save bad food, but that great food can not save bad service. Recollections of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi aside, I find that this adage of the hospitality industry to be both true and almost altogether dismissed by the industry itself. This is an industry that creates an elite of those that will spend a fortune to get a noteworthy designer to create ambience, stock 50 kinds of premium vodka behind the bar, and source its pig from farms down the street, yet it seems to take the most perfunctory and dismissive attitude towards the service it provides.

There are certain cookbooks in my library that are stained, dog-earred, and otherwise, lovingly mistreated with their overuse. And then there are those that are not. This latter number is far smaller, and there is one reason why 3 or 4 of my cookbooks are rarely opened…. these cookbooks scare me.

They are all derived from famous restaurants around the globe, were all bought in a fuzzy haze of culinary ambition bordering on delusion, and have fantastic, exotic sounding recipes that, as it turns out, are a bit of a pain in the ass to actually make. When a cookbook actually dictates the type of green you must use (lamb’s lettuce, butter lettuce, red perella, perhaps) as opposed to the quotidian “mesclun mix”, you know you’re in trouble.

I imagine that you probably think that farmshare folks sit around in homespun hemp gnawing on raw vegetables with ascetic delight. And that may be true for some folks, but I prefer a bit of indulgence to balance out the veggie virtue.

The late comedian, Mitch Hedburg, once declared that he believed that eating a good food with a bad food cancelled out the negative affects of the bad food. Eating a carrot, along with some fries, gave the fries a ‘free pass’ into his gullet, and I must admit, I adhere strongly to the same principles.