Skip to main content

Dinner at the Lake



Our back yard

Yesterday was a beautiful day in central Ohio, and the outside, which quite often makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, was a delightful place for a party. We hosted a dinner for 13 at our lake house yesterday--some people we only see about once a year were in town, along with their son who has ironically moved here from New Jersey by way of Florida (kind of), their daughter and her boyfriend and son, and then two other couples whose company we enjoy.

My 16-year-old daughter opted to join us because she knew, as did I, that it would be an evening full of more than houseguests--there would be characters--characters to predict and giggle with and sometimes at (in a respectful way, of course). We weren't disappointed.

I love to cook. Not the everyday day-after-bloody-day-I'm-tired-of-being-the-foodsource kind of cooking. The small parties with people I love sitting around my table, all feeling comfortable and welcome and well-fed, actually gives me a bit of a buzz. Wine or not. Sangria or not. I do love the sangria.

Here is one of the things I served that everyone devoured, courtesy of Ina Garten--if I were to ever meet Ina, I believe I would stammer and drool and say something stupid like--Oh Barefoot Contessa, I love you! Sign my apron.

Tomato and Feta Salad
3 pints grape tomatoes, halved lengthwise
12 ounces feta cheese, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1 small red onion, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons white wine or champagne vinegar
2 tablespoons minced fresh basil
2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

In a serving bowl, gently toss together all ingredients. Serve immediately or chill, covered, until ready to serve.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...
20 comments
Read more

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...
18 comments
Read more

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...
14 comments
Read more