I look forward to autumn, and the changes it brings are nicely surprising, each year seeming new. The first sweater-worthy morning, the first ruby-red leaves, the changing quality of light and oh yes, the heartier fare, all come to mind. In New England we may move through the food seasons in tandem with nature’s seasonal offerings, and fall, I think, is the very best of these transitions. Squash and roasted potatoes replace fresh corn, light macaroni salad gives way to rich baked macaroni & cheese; grilled chicken, burgers and dogs are replaced by roasted meats drizzled in rich sauces. It is a time of preparation for the long winter, via second helpings.
The other aspect of fall I anticipate is the resumption of friendly indoor gatherings. In the summer we tend to scatter a bit and summer activities are dispersed outdoors as they should be. I love a BBQ, but there is something closer-to-the-heart about eating with friends and family indoors on chilly nights.
My friends and I have a bi-weekly ritual that resumes each October; we call it “Game Night.” Don’t let the title fool you, it’s about food and community first, and if we get to some fun games after our bellies and spirits are full, so much the better.
Every other Friday night a different host is charged with creating the main meal we will share. The rest of us pledge a salad, a dessert, an appetizer and/or the beverages of our choice. There is usually a cultural or regional theme; sometimes the theme is “experimental”. We all carry a certain amount of palette-based fear to the door on “experimental night”; even though we are a group of seasoned cooks, several of us having spent years cooking professionally. There have been odd incidents of culinary injustice, napkins raised to mouths hiding the ejection of an unpalatable morsel from a dish gone horribly wrong. We are not kind when such a thing occurs. Sometimes the sting of rebuke is the only appropriate teacher. After all, we didn’t ask our friend to attempt that chocolate-parmesan risotto, so he or she must deal with the repercussions as the bitter taste of the dish is reflected in our reviews.
Thankfully these instances are rare, and frankly there is no real punishment for such experimentation. We all appreciate the risk-taking, and are adept at absorbing a laugh at our own expense. Though tasty food may be one of the reasons we all show up consistently on Game Night, it is the joining of great food with a community of friends that we primarily seek.
When my turn comes around, I give careful thought to what I might prepare. Will it be a dry-rubbed pork loin, subsequently marinated in hearty red wine and maple syrup, pan seared until golden brown on all sides, and then finished in the oven until the edges are crispy-sweet, and the meat is juicy and cuts with a fork? Will I pair the pork with roasted-garlic mashers, or sautéed Brussels sprouts with caramelized onions, garlic and dried apricots?
As I stroll through the market, touching and testing the available ingredients I contemplate the night to come. My dish will arise from an inspiration that is itself a recipe of answers to three questions, in equal parts: For whom do I cook? What, if any, theme will constrain my choices? What captures my interest as I walk through the market on that day?
Game night always begins in the kitchen. As guests arrive, their offerings are placed on the table and the grazing begins, along with the pouring of the wine or the local Maine ales. More often than not, the host is still preparing the main dish as things get started. This enhances the family-feel of the evening. This is a night of participation, of shared service to gathered friends rather than a formal dinner party or night-out being served. There is a richer tone when each person has added something, no matter what that might be. We are family on this night, the TV is off, it’s just us and the food.
When it’s time to fill our plates with the main dish, the sound of friendly chatter blends with the “Game Night” music playlist and the place is a whir of activity. Once we all have settled at a place of our choosing around the living room in a loose circle, there is only the familiar sound of tableware on plate. After a few moments the “yummy sounds” ensue, followed by looks and exaggerated nods across the room as if to verify the shared experience. Next the spontaneous reviews begin which might be directed at the dish’s creator, or simply exclaimed to generate agreement and discussion amongst the group.
In turn, I am certain, we all take a moment to look up and survey the beauty of all that is before us. Our friends nourished, sharing a common experience from the work of our own creativity and from our own hands. Yes, food is at the center, is the vehicle for this sharing, and what better vehicle could there be? Nourishment is so much more than giving the body calories to enable its life-sustaining processes, not to diminish the importance of survival. Assuming we have food to eat, a blessing unto itself, there is also nourishment in the sharing, the community around the table. Monopoly, anyone?
