Arty Parties , livre ebook

ABRAMS BOOKS - Sherman Julia Sherman

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280 pages

English

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In her follow-up cookbook to Salad for President, cook, writer, and artist Julia Sherman shows us how to apply an artist's touch to our own home gatherings. Artists throw superior parties, and we can learn from their willingness to draw outside the lines, choose character over perfection, and find boundless joy in feeding family and friends. Cook, live, and host like an artist with inspired, easy recipes and playful hands-on experiments in the kitchen. Sherman shows you how to be the architect of your own uniquely memorable bash, whether that means a special breakfast for two, or a "choose your own adventure" meal that's flexible enough to feed a crowd. Forget the codified markers of good taste-Arty Parties instead reveals that modern gatherings are less about "getting it right" and more about getting your hands dirty, building community, and taking risks in the kitchen and beyond. Featuring colorful food that is confident in its simplicity, Sherman shares easy-to-follow, healthy recipes that value imaginative flavor combinations over complexity: dishes like an avocado-lemongrass panna cotta, saffron tomato soup, coconut rice cakes with smashed avocado and soy-marinated eggs, and roasted broccolini and blood oranges with a creamy pepita sauce. This book also invites readers into the idiosyncratic gatherings of internationally acclaimed artists, from a chic office party in a Parisian art book publisher's atelier to an underground earth oven pizza party on a secluded hillside in Los Angeles. Woven throughout are Sherman's own homegrown events that are relatable yet wonderfully experimental in tone. Utterly unique and beautifully designed, Arty Parties is a guide to creating meaningful experiences that nourish both the host and their guests in body, mind, and soul.

Informations

Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	26 octobre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647004736
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	11 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,1555€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

For Nana, who lived life in anticipation of the next party, and who went to sleep only to dream of tomorrow s breakfast. Whoop-de-doo! This one s for you.
Contents
Foreword
Introduction
CHAPTER 1: The Table is a Construct
Hugh Hayden
Olivia Sammons
CHAPTER 2: Off-Peak Hours
Susan Cianciolo
Tom Sachs
CHAPTER 3: Be the Aggressive Friend-Maker
M lanie Scarciglia Christophe Boutin
Earth Pizza
Lil Deb s Oasis
CHAPTER 4: Cooking for a Cause
Lauren Halsey
The L.A. Fruit Share
CHAPTER 5: Choose Your Own Adventure
Shin Okuda and Kristin Dickson-Okuda
Julia Sherman and Adam Katz
Francesca DiMatteo
Joe and Lauren Grimm
Julia Sherman
CHAPTER 6: A Salad, a Thing, and Something Else
Sophia Moreno-Bunge
Chapter 7: Be My Guest, but Never Show Up Empty-Handed
Jordan Casteel
Pantry
Recipe Index
Ingredient Index
Artisan Credits
Acknowledgments
Bios
Foreword
HANNAH GOLDFIELD, FOOD CRITIC FOR THE NEW YORKER
In my capacity as a food critic, I ve been to hundreds of world-class restaurants. For as long as I ve known Julia, I ve joked that her house is my favorite of them all. I can recall the beautiful meals I ve eaten there with eerie precision. Perfectly seasoned pistachio butter, smeared on crusty sourdough toast, sprinkled with shredded root vegetables and fried capers, and served with rosy-fleshed seared duck breast. Crisp, lacy socca , a.k.a. chickpea-flour pancakes, topped with a salad of homegrown arugula, thinly sliced apple, and ribbons of celery. Tempura-fried smelt as the crown jewels of Japanese-inspired rice bowls, offset by fermented peppers and dollops of yuzu kosho whipped with Kewpie mayonnaise.
But when I stopped to really think about it, I realized that the pleasure of eating at Julia s is not only about the wonderful food-she s an incredible, intuitive cook-and the enviable interior design-an optimally eclectic mix of art, textiles, tiles, and tableware. Great restaurants have those things in spades. What Julia offers that they don t is a marked disinterest in, and even disdain for, pomp and circumstance. Julia likes to get messy; Julia knows that s where the magic lies. Julia doesn t stand on ceremony. (She hosted a recurrent pop-up called Fuck Brunch. ) When she lived in Brooklyn, her front door opened directly into her kitchen, where the island was invariably covered in a jumble of unidentifiable exotic fruit, bottles, jars, and dishcloths, each a conversation piece in their own right.
Perhaps the best part of being Julia s guest, what sets Chez Julia apart, is the invitation to dive headlong into her process, to be pulled along for the ride. When she throws a dinner party, it s not unusual to find people milling about, dressing their own portions of heirloom beans or making their own experimental tacos, and maybe never even sitting down. The night we ate the rice bowls, it was my job to remove the smelt from the pan and fling them onto the previous day s New York Times to absorb excess oil. (It was especially satisfying to slap fish onto Donald Trump s face.)
The pistachio butter-made in homage to a memorable meal Julia once had at a restaurant in Paris-wasn t finished when I arrived the day she served it for lunch. Taste this? she said as she handed me a spoon and gestured toward her food processor. What do you think of the texture? When it was time to eat, she pushed aside a stack of books and papers on her glass dining table to make room for our plates and for her then-infant daughter, placid in her bouncer chair, which Julia simply incorporated into the tablescape. And the fun was far from over after we d finished eating. Julia and I were both on maternity leave, so, naturally, she had decided that we should make beeswax candles in the shape of our newborns feet.
This sounded, to me, like an impossible task, requiring some sort of technical certification, but before I could express reluctance, Julia was ripping open a bag of powdered alginate and mixing it with water. She transferred the creamy concoction to a small plastic pint container and then plunged my sleeping son s foot into the goop; within seconds, it had set around his tiny toes to create a soft rubbery mold, which we then filled with melted beeswax that had been simmering on the stove. It took a few tries to get it right, but Julia resisted frustration and reveled in the trial and error. In the absence of wicks, which she hadn t been able to obtain in time, she declared our would-be candles to be sculptures, instead. The adorable, if ever so slightly creepy, honey-colored disembodied foot immediately took place of pride on my mantle.
My biggest revelation about Chez Julia, though, is that it s not so much a place as it is a state of mind. One day, after, I m embarrassed to say, years of being friends, I tentatively invited her to have lunch at my place for the first time. Like many of Julia s nearest and dearest, I found the idea of hosting the ultimate host to be more than a little intimidating. I didn t have anything exciting to serve. Or so I thought. When Julia arrived, she immediately got to scouring my refrigerator and kitchen shelves, plucking jars and tins from dusty, long forgotten corners. She grabbed a ceramic serving tray that I had possibly never used before, and together we composed a beautiful salad: something like a ni oise featuring thick slices of tomato, olives, and hard-boiled eggs, drizzled in olive oil, vinegar, and a wedge of lemon I d forgotten I saved in the fridge, plus a healthy sprinkling of flaky sea salt.
It was delightful, and it was eye-opening. I ve never looked at my kitchen, or myself, the same way. She might have done more than half of the meal prep but I felt as empowered and capable as Martha Stewart-yet infinitely more laid back. And this point is key; Julia is wildly creative, and ambitious, but she is never aiming for perfection. What makes her a truly successful host is her willingness to fail. Case in point: A couple of summers ago, she decided to throw a Labor Day tie-dye-your-whites party, for which she would make the dye herself out of carefully hoarded leftover kitchen scraps-hibiscus leaves, avocado pits, and onion skins. She had never tried it before but wasn t self-conscious about experimenting in front of a few dozen friends who would trickle in and out of her backyard throughout the day. After steeping her gathered ingredients in enormous stockpots of boiling water, she arranged the finished dyes on her patio so that people could rubber-band and dip their whites, while warning gaily that she wasn t exactly sure what she was doing.
The avocado pits turned my old white shirt a shade of muddy brown that faded almost completely after it dried in the sun. The hibiscus-pink disappeared from my white dishcloth the first time I washed it. But the fact that the activity didn t go according to plan did not remotely detract from the fun. It only enhanced it, turning the afternoon into a sort of madcap (and extremely low-stakes) disaster, with Julia laughing the loudest. The lesson couldn t have been clearer: Your guests can only be as relaxed as you are. Your guests will have as much fun as you do. Give them, and yourself, that gift, and let this book be your guide.
Photograph by Christopher Gill.
Introduction
I am a professional cook, but at the most memorable dinner I have ever hosted the food was of no consequence at all.
The best party I have ever thrown took place the night before my daughter, Red, was born. We had gone long on the natural birth plan. We had the doula and the midwife, the hospital bag packed with battery-operated candles, matching vintage No Fear T-shirts, and labor-inducing essential oils. (My husband had even designed handicraft stations to entertain me between contractions.) But pre-labor complications left us no choice but to schedule a C-section. Disappointment aside, I had found myself in the most unnerving position imaginable-we knew at precisely what time our lives would change forever. How would we endure the nerve-racking night before?!
True to form, I turned to the thing that puts me most at ease: a big, messy party. I pride myself on my ability to feed people healthier, tastier, higher-quality food from my home kitchen than they can get at most restaurants. For me, having people over, day or night, is a release valve for an excess of creative steam; it s an excuse to seek out rarefied ingredients, to pillage the greenmarket and spend the day (or two, or three) cooking. So, I invited my closest friends to toss their coats on the bed, to crowd around our kitchen island, to open all of the bottles of wine at once, and to use every glass and mug we owned. We hosted a C-section party.
But with a major surgery slated for 6 A.M . (and a year of sleep deprivation in my future), I knew better than to go down the rabbit hole of cooking for thirty friends. So, we did the unthinkable: We ordered pizza, and it didn t suck. OK, I ll admit, in the end I complemented the tower of pies with a generous heap of fresh arugula with lemon and Parmesan. (I live and die for salad pizza.) But that s all, folks!
To my surprise, my friends were tickled to be eating takeout at my house, where the food is usually so demanding of my focus. This time was different-I was leaning on them. They brought the wine, the sides, and a profound sense of community. It can be easy for a serial host to forget: The only thing more satisfying than being catered to is the pleasure of making a meaningful contribution. As people milled about, gabbing with the characters they d met in my kitchen so many times before, the energy in the room was through the roof. No matter the menu, the spirit of the night was too big to fail. I m not sure I have ever enjoyed a party of my own so much.

A lobster cookout (bibs included), in my Brooklyn backyard.
GETTING DIRTY IS PART OF THE FUN.
This book is an homage to process.
As anyone who knows me