The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

I always thought it weird and not just a little condescending to refer to elderly adults as adorable or cute. It’s true we shrink in size as we age, and the onset of even the slightest form of dementia renders us, well, somewhat childlike. Still, I hope not to remind anyone of a puppy in years to come and certainly the two women who recently visited my sister, Janet, and me at our house in the country were not in the least cute. So smart, quick-witted, and knowledgeable were they that I was the one who felt like a six year old.

Doris and June, both in their early eighties, are former school teachers, each with a doctorate under her belt. They have traveled together extensively, often to Elderhostels (educational travel and learning vacations for those over age fifty-five, where local experts lecture or guide tours on a broad range of topics) or to countries that intrigued them and piqued their many interests, such as dance, literature, formal gardens, theatre, and art.

After the death of June’s husband, a gourmet cook with a collection of over 400 cookbooks, she parceled out the books here and there, and I was the lucky recipient of over half a dozen. Soon after, she suggested that she and Doris, a very dear old family friend of ours, drive upstate to visit some gardens they’d read about and then come to our place to sample my cooking. They would arrive in time for brunch; explore the area in the afternoon; and return for an early dinner.

I graciously, though nervously, accepted and immediately began planning the day and its menus. I am a fairly relaxed hostess once guests arrive, but prior to the event I’m as prickly as a pear as opposed to cool as a cucumber. I plot, plan, determine, re-think, change gears, obsess, and finally come to decision about what I will prepare. Two multi-course meals in one day, with two gals whose combined intellect intimidated me, had me more anxious than usual. But when you get down to it, I know what I’m doing in the kitchen, and I reminded myself that Doris has known me since before I was born, having been my mother’s closest friend until my mom’s death in the mid-seventies.

The weather had been bizarre, with torrential downpours and a constant grayness prevailing for weeks on end, and I was hoping the skies would clear, so we could have brunch al fresco on our front porch amid my many container pots overflowing with multicolored flowers, tomato plants, and herbs. It stormed relentlessly instead.

Doris and June arrived promptly at 10:00 with dripping umbrellas and hooded jackets. While Janet gave them a tour of our little house, I brought the warm  broccoli and fresh herb frittata to the table and put the final touches on a juicy heirloom tomato salad topped with a chiffonade of basil and a fruit salad of pineapple, mango, oranges, kiwi, and ruby red grapefruit with chopped orange-mint. The piece de resistance was a golden, puffed Dutch Baby I’d baked in a black cast iron skillet. Part pancake, part popover, it has an airy (almost cruller-like) interior and is a perfect foil for a squirt of fresh lemon juice and a dusting of confectioner’s sugar.

We ate while sipping tea or coffee and the subjects ranged from gardening (with the ladies giving us valuable tips) to books we’d just finished reading and wanted to endorse. I didn’t feel out of my element and was pleased with the outcome of the meal, which everyone cooed over. Afterwards, Janet packed Doris and June into her car, and they took off for the nearby town of Narrowsburg to stroll in and out of the galleries and shops, leaving me to contemplate the hors d’oeuvres and dinner I’d be presenting in the early evening.

I put some Brazilian music on the stereo and turned it up high enough to entertain me in the kitchen. I’d already cooked the Pakistani Seekh Kebab patties, which are little ground chicken fritters flavored with cumin, coriander, turmeric, garam masala, ginger, and fresh cilantro; and the accompanying raita dipping sauce of yogurt, grated cucumber, lemon juice, mint, and more cilantro. Now I cut bell peppers, fennel, endive, cucumber, and carrots for the crudités and made a zesty herb dip using cream cheese, sour cream, feta cheese, scallions, and many of the fresh herbs from the front porch: parsley, thyme, chives, tarragon, and marjoram.

The night before I had oven-roasted chioggia, golden, and deep magenta-colored beets, and tossed them with a citrus vinaigrette. I placed them in a turquoise colored bowl and embedded orange segments among the jewel-toned chunks and scattered crumbled goat cheese over the top. Next I set to prepping the main course, which was porcini-encrusted halibut to be served  with a chive and shallot butter sauce. Dried porcini mushrooms are further oven-dried before being ground to a fine powder. Then creamy-white halibut steaks are pressed into a plate of the porcini dust until coated on all sides. Later, at the last moment, I would pan-sear them and serve them napped with the warm sauce. Besides the cold beet salad, I’d serve oven-roasted green beans with crispy shallots and freshly grated lemon rind. Dessert, which had been chilling all day in the fridge was individual vanilla bean panna cotta custards surrounded by a mixed berry coulis, or sauce, spiked with raspberry liqueur and a drop or two of a rich, syrupy aged balsamic vinegar I’d gotten my hands on.

The door opened and in came the travelers to discuss what they’d done in Narrowsburg while I’d been whirling around in a barely controlled frenzy in the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a towel and followed everyone into the living room. I felt a little challenged when, eventually, the talk turned to the Jane Austin club to which Doris and June belong and then moved on to the New York City Ballet, which both women and Janet have been attending for a couple of decades. Meanwhile, as they nattered on I was wondering if my menu, particularly the exotic Pakistani appetizers were going to be too strongly flavored for older palettes. I recalled being at food events where the more mature were sensitive to salt, spice, and flavors to which they weren’t accustomed.

Soon enough I would find out, as June and Doris decided to head back to Long Island earlier than planned since the rain had not let up all day and they were concerned about driving in the dark when the roads would be slick. They asked if I could move the meal up nearly two hours, and after a momentary mini-panic, I moved swiftly into gear and got the appetizers ready and into the living room. To my surprise, they fell madly in love with the slightly-spiced patties and cooling, crunchy raita and also with the tangy tip for the crudité vegetables.  Now we talked about ways to renovate or redesign some of the rooms in the house, and I enjoyed the conversation even though I shy away from change. The suggestions made were based on the ladies’ knowledge, experience, and great design sense. I had to pull myself away to get the halibut in the skillet and dinner on the table.

Finally, we were settled around the table and the stimulating talk continued unabated as the food was devoured and I was mightily complimented. As Doris, June, and Janet polished off their wine, I returned to the kitchen to finish off the panna cottas. I ladled some deep blue-red berry sauce into the bottom of four shallow bowls and inverted the ramekins to remove the quivering custards and place them atop the sauce. I finished the desserts with fresh sprigs of mint and brought them to the table. Doris beamed as I put a panna cotta in front of her. She lightly touched a bright green mint leaf jutting from the center of the custard. “Oh, this is lovely, she said, “Just adorable!” And I had to agree.

Pan-Fried Halibut with Porcini Dust and Chive Sauce

Serves 2

For the fillets:

2 8-ounce halibut fillets, cut into two pieces

¼ cup milk

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup porcini dust (see below)

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

 

For the chive sauce:

¼ cup dry white wine

1 shallot, minced

½ cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons minced chives

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

 

For porcini dust:

1/16 pound (1 ounce) dried porcini

Place the porcini on a baking sheet in a 250-degree oven for 25 minutes. Let cool five minutes, then grind to a fine powder in a electric coffee grinder (or blender).

Dip each of the four fillets in milk (so more of the porcini dust adheres to them), shaking off excess. Spread the porcini dust on a plate and press the fillets into it so they’re well coated on all sides. Place on a plate, season with salt and pepper, cover with plastic wrap and reserve in the refrigerator. Prepare the chive sauce by gently simmering the white wine with the shallots until the mixture cooks down by half. Pour in the cream and continue simmering until the sauce thickens very slightly. Stir in the chives and simmer another minute or two. Season with salt and pepper to taste and keep on lowest flame possible. Meanwhile, in a skillet large enough to hold the four fillets, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the fillets to the skillet and sauté, turning once, about 3 minutes per side. Ladle most of the chive sauce onto two plates and top each with two fillets. Drizzle the remainder of the sauce over the tops of the fillets and serve immediately.