It’s not usually where you want to see your homemade shortbread. And yet, there it was, spread across the floor. I had ever-so-cleverly decided to place it directly in front of a fan on an ever-so-slightly sloped chair, so it would cool faster and I could finish up my snickery squares. I turned my back on it for two minutes, and it sloped right off the back of the chair, all over the floor.
It was definitely turning into that kind of meal: the one where the olive oil ends up on your dress instead of in your pasta salad, where your measuring cup sears your pinkie finger (burned by a #$%*& measuring cup!), and your shortbread graces the floor instead the dessert course. Where the sun starts to set as you’re still frantically cooking your picnic and mopping up shortbread.
Luckily, things hadn’t gone so sour that I didn’t have enough energy and time to take a breath, sweep up the shortbread, deposit it in the trash, and try again. (Don’t think I didn’t think of just rearranging it in the pan, covering it with the caramel and chocolate, and pretending like nothing had ever happened. Alas, it was too far gone for that–after I tried to piece it together I realized it was a lost cause and regretfully got rid of it.)
After the burned pinkie and the shortbread, I took a deep breath, drank some wine, and calmed down. That’s the thing about cooking–food will never be done faster just because you want it to. You’ll probably just end up forgetting a pot and ruining something good if you’re dashing around.
The second round of shortbread went much more successfully than the first. It turned out nicely browned and crisp. After that, besides almost cooking the candied peanuts to death, everything went much smoother. The pasta salad came together like a dream–it was incredibly simple, and yet so delicious: penne, lemon, olive oil, chopped kalamatas, watercress, tomato and red pepper. Alongside were a fresh goat cheese from the Garden of Eden, and a baguette that was warm when I picked it up after work, and some blanched asparagus with a lemon vinaigrette. And, of course, the snickery squares for dessert.
We were supposed to have a picnic at seven, and we ended up eating at my kitchen table around 8, but you can’t rush good food–or an overambitious menu.
After cooing over the pasta salad, Christina did have one question: “Why’s your floor so covered in crumbs?”
Some things, however, are best left in the kitchen. Oh, I don’t know, I answered. More wine?
Yes, please.
