Authors: Maggie Stuckey
Recipe from
Albertina’s Restaurant
, Portland, Oregon
Serves 8
This delicious sherbet is stunningly simple; it doesn’t even require the use of an ice cream maker. And because it uses frozen berries, you can enjoy it any season.
Recipe from Lexa Walsh, Oakland, California;
Portland Stock
Lexa is a talented chef who volunteered her services for many of the Portland Stock suppers. The Portland folks cannot forgive her for moving away. Among her many creations is this cardamom-tinged pavlova, a spectacular dessert that uses fresh seasonal fruit like jewels in a crown. Many types of fresh fruit are glorious with this dessert, which makes it a treat in any season. In fall, Lexa especially likes the brilliant color of pomegranate seeds.
Variations:
Rather than individual meringues, you can make one large one, more like a cake in shape. It doesn’t cut as cleanly, but it’s a spectacular presentation. And many types of fresh fruit are glorious with this dessert, which makes it a treat in any season.
Make ahead?
Up through step 5; the meringues themselves, without whipped cream and fruit, can be made up to several days ahead as long as you store them at room temperature in a super-airtight container.
For large crowds:
Easy to multiply ingredients.
Winter may be the truest season for soup. Cold. Blustery winds. Icy rain, snow, sleet. Soggy mittens, wet socks, wet dogs. School closures, black ice, power outages. Broken ski poles, broken limbs — okay, enough. You know what I mean. Time for a warm fire, bread in the oven, and soup simmering on the stove.
Butternut and Acorn Squash Soup (
page 140
), Green Salad with Mini Crab Cakes (
page 174
) , and Whole-Wheat Quick Bread (
page 170
)
There it was, in bold letters at the bottom of the Soup Night flyer: “Let’s celebrate Earl’s 80th Birthday!”
It wasn’t completely clear that Earl himself would be present. He and Eleanor, his new lady love, might be at the coast, someone had heard. But, no matter. The rest of the neighbors would honor their most senior member, whether he was there or not. A dozen or so birthday cards waited on the table, alongside a handsome birthday cake, courtesy of Renee and Paul, the hosts.
Suddenly, someone spotted Earl and Eleanor coming up the walk, and all conversations ceased as people rushed to gather in the front room. When the door opened, Earl and Eleanor were greeted with raucous shouts of “Surprise!” and “Happy birthday!” Earl looked stunned. He actually took a step backward, like he was trying to escape. Then, on the first notes of the birthday song, his eyes filled with tears.
Earl spent the rest of the evening hugging all the men and kissing all the women. “This is just the greatest bunch of people,” he said over and over. “I’d never want to live anywhere else.”
One aspect of their community that the neighbors like to talk about is its diversity. That is, of course, a loaded word. Often — too often — it’s a code for race. But on Stanton Street, they mean it more broadly, as it was intended. There are two gay couples. Several religious faiths are represented. One household is African-American, and out of a total of eight youngsters still living at home, three are children of color, adopted from other countries.
What’s on display tonight, though, is diversity of age. The guest of honor, 80 years and 4 days old today, is deep in conversation with the 20-something son of his next-door neighbors, a graduate student who always comes back for Soup Night. Not long after, this same young man is pulled into the games of the younger children, aged 4 to 11, who glom onto him every chance they get. It’s obvious the pleasure of one another’s company is mutual. At the other end of the age spectrum, Dan and Ali’s baby is just a few months old, and Becky and Lisa’s new son is even younger.
Except he isn’t here. He’s still in the orphanage, and so are Becky and Lisa, on the last piece of the adoption process. They are expected back any day now.
Jessie and her son Reuben arrive a little late, but they have a very good excuse: Reuben just played at his first violin recital, and they came straight from the performance. It’s a bit of a jolt to see Reuben all dressed up. The last time I saw him, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, whizzing around the block on his unicycle. He taught himself to ride, using the instructional video that came with the cycle. His current record is 24 times around the block without stopping or falling. He also taught himself to ride a pogo stick, and his current personal best is more than 150 jumps in a row without missing.
The unicycle, the pogo stick — these are typical Reuben things. A 12-year-old with enough energy to power light bulbs for a small country, he is absolutely fearless. Yet here he is, standing quietly by the fireplace in his dress-up recital clothes, ready to play for us. The conversation buzz slowly settles down, and Reuben starts to play. It’s a beautiful classical piece, and he does it well.
In honor of his first recital, Reuben’s grandmother is visiting from California. She’s been to Soup Night before; it reminds her of her childhood in Pittsburgh, where people sat on their porches and visited while the children played in the street. On this particular evening, she had offered to take the family out to dinner, to celebrate Reuben’s debut, but her son, Reuben’s dad, said, “No thanks, Mom; it’s Soup Night and we don’t want to miss it.”
Reuben finishes the short piece, to great applause and calls for an encore. So he plays it again. Then his younger sister tiptoes to the piano and starts to play. One neighbor likens this impromptu recital to the days when people knew how to entertain themselves without television. Becky, the teacher, takes advantage of the interruption to have a whispered conference with Reuben. She slips out the door, returns with her guitar, and she and Reuben, whose violin is now a bluegrass fiddle, play an unpolished but thoroughly charming rendition of “Little Burnt Potato” and “Drowsy Maggie.”
Turns out, Maggie isn’t the only one who’s drowsy. It’s getting late, and tomorrow is a school day. The parents start the process of saying their good nights, gathering up soup bowls and sorting out their own kids from the gang of youngsters. Aidan, who’s five, isn’t ready to leave. “But I don’t WANT to go home,” he wails, sobbing as though his heart is breaking. Alex (who is not his father) picks him up around the middle and holds him crosswise against his own hip (the way you would hold a gigantic bag of peat moss) and dances away with him. “OK,” he says, “you don’t want to go home, so let’s take you somewhere else.” Holding the sniffling boy sideways, he trots around a tree, around a telephone pole, halfway down the wrong street, and back again. Pretty soon the little boy is giggling, and soon after that he is safely home.
Another successful Soup Night.
Serves 4–6
I’ve been making beef stew for a long time, and I always thought mine wasn’t half bad — until I tasted the version made by my Ocean Park, Washington, neighbor, Kennette Osborn. Her part-German grandmother taught her to make the stew, and it is really good. It helps that she has access to local beef, raised organically, and the allspice lends a touch of mystery. But what really makes it extraordinary is the surprise — coleslaw. That idea came from her late husband, which makes this a true family recipe. Take a big spoonful, she said, and stir it into your bowl of hot stew. I admit, at first I was skeptical. But trust me, and give it a try. The raw cabbage adds a nice crunch, and the dressing makes the whole thing creamy, but in a nice way. I’d change only one thing: add mushrooms. And I agree with Kennette’s suggestion to use a cast-iron frying pan.
Make ahead?
Yes, both elements. Slow, slow cooking is best for the beef anyway, and the coleslaw needs time to meld. And, like all stews, this is better the next day.
For large crowds:
If, like Kennette, you have part of a cow, custom cut, in your freezer, you can make huge batches of this. Otherwise, for expansions you might want to increase the proportion of vegetables to meat.