Oh. I forgot the palmiers. They're little elephant-ear-like hors d'oeuvres, made with folded puff pastry layered with goat cheese, pesto, sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts. I'd never made them before and I'm a little leery about puff pastry, but I remembered to thaw it, and I'd seen Ina do this many times. It looked easy. It wasn't so hard. I made two rolls, covered them with plastic wrap and put them in the fridge. I could slice them and bake them just before my guests arrived. I wanted them to be warm when served.
I made the ganache and assembled the cake. Glorious! But would the cherry jam run over the edges? Would the ganache harden properly over the wet jam? At this point, it was done. What will be, will be. Que sera and all that. I put the cake on a pretty cake stand (a wedding gift to my parents), covered it with the top and put it on top of the buffet, the only surface left open.
I still had the Oysters Rockefeller to prepare, a tenderloin to cook, the potatoes and now-infamous gorgonzola sauce to reheat, the tomatoes to bake and the palmiers to cut and bake. How to do it all? I realized I needed a time table. Not my usual casual time table I sometimes use to prepare for guests, but a complete, minute by minute schedule of how to make all this work, and including the changing oven temperatures. So, from 3 PM, when I took the meat and the gorgonzola out of the fridge to bring them to room temperature, until we sat down to dinner at 6:30, I followed my own instructions, carefully printed out from my word processor, and I kept my timer in my pocket, even after the guests came. A sample of the schedule: 4:00, heat oven to 400; 4:30 palmiers on a cookie sheet, 4:40, palmiers in the oven for 14 minutes; 4:54, palmiers out, plate, raise oven temperature to 500; gorgonzola sauce on low heat; stir. 5:00, guests arrive. You get the picture.
And eureka, it worked! Still, as might be expected, there were a few bumps. I almost spilled the (very hot) sheet pan that contained the oysters (in their shells on a bed of rock salt) when I took it out of the oven, raised the rack, and put the oysters under the broiler. Can you imagine the mess on the kitchen floor? Hot oysters, hot rock salt, a hot pan? Fortunately, I saved it just in time. I only forgot to release the timer once and had to guess at the timing, so crucial to successful medium rare beef. It came out a hair early and was a little on the rare side, but no matter. And when I heated the now cranky gorgonzola sauce, it separated. I had to whisk it like mad to get it back together. But the candles got lit, the champagne and wine got opened, the meal was served and my guests said everything was delicious. I was very pleased.
Oh, and the guests? They melded very well, even voluntarily mixing it up at the table so they got to talk to people they hadn't met before. I pronounced the dinner a big success. But never again. It's too much work. And I'm not as spry - or as daring - as I used to be.
I'm having the leftover tenderloin in a sandwich for dinner tonight, just spread with cold gorgonzola sauce. I'm not risking put that venomous stuff back on the stove again!
Stay tuned.
I made the ganache and assembled the cake. Glorious! But would the cherry jam run over the edges? Would the ganache harden properly over the wet jam? At this point, it was done. What will be, will be. Que sera and all that. I put the cake on a pretty cake stand (a wedding gift to my parents), covered it with the top and put it on top of the buffet, the only surface left open.
I still had the Oysters Rockefeller to prepare, a tenderloin to cook, the potatoes and now-infamous gorgonzola sauce to reheat, the tomatoes to bake and the palmiers to cut and bake. How to do it all? I realized I needed a time table. Not my usual casual time table I sometimes use to prepare for guests, but a complete, minute by minute schedule of how to make all this work, and including the changing oven temperatures. So, from 3 PM, when I took the meat and the gorgonzola out of the fridge to bring them to room temperature, until we sat down to dinner at 6:30, I followed my own instructions, carefully printed out from my word processor, and I kept my timer in my pocket, even after the guests came. A sample of the schedule: 4:00, heat oven to 400; 4:30 palmiers on a cookie sheet, 4:40, palmiers in the oven for 14 minutes; 4:54, palmiers out, plate, raise oven temperature to 500; gorgonzola sauce on low heat; stir. 5:00, guests arrive. You get the picture.
And eureka, it worked! Still, as might be expected, there were a few bumps. I almost spilled the (very hot) sheet pan that contained the oysters (in their shells on a bed of rock salt) when I took it out of the oven, raised the rack, and put the oysters under the broiler. Can you imagine the mess on the kitchen floor? Hot oysters, hot rock salt, a hot pan? Fortunately, I saved it just in time. I only forgot to release the timer once and had to guess at the timing, so crucial to successful medium rare beef. It came out a hair early and was a little on the rare side, but no matter. And when I heated the now cranky gorgonzola sauce, it separated. I had to whisk it like mad to get it back together. But the candles got lit, the champagne and wine got opened, the meal was served and my guests said everything was delicious. I was very pleased.
Oh, and the guests? They melded very well, even voluntarily mixing it up at the table so they got to talk to people they hadn't met before. I pronounced the dinner a big success. But never again. It's too much work. And I'm not as spry - or as daring - as I used to be.
I'm having the leftover tenderloin in a sandwich for dinner tonight, just spread with cold gorgonzola sauce. I'm not risking put that venomous stuff back on the stove again!
Stay tuned.
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