Peckish

Peckish

Sophisticated Snacking, Defined

Since before I was old enough to actually cook, I was besotted with a fantasy of my grown-up life, one that would include throwing elaborate dinner parties in candlelit rooms, endless lunches on pretty plaid blankets by the sea, and long, leisurely breakfasts on terraces that were yet to be revealed to me. As a teenager, when the Los Angeles Times Magazine would show up at our house on Sundays, I’d flip straight to the food column to see which dishes sounded worthy of my mental menus. Then when the Martha Stewart Living magazine and Lee Bailey’s Country Weekends came on the scene, they beckoned with their glossy photos of elegant parlor parties and dreamy lakeside soirees, and I was further smitten.

I wanted to conceive and create with the same fabulousness that I saw in their pages. There would be multiple courses with silverware to suit and dishes with names like coq au vin and cassoulet. I would make flawless appetizers and all-day braises, rustic salads and long-simmering stews; I would dazzle with cobblers, crisps, tarts, and tortes. Such was my teenage idea of sophisticated cooking and entertaining, and it has taken years to let go of these heady visions. Only now, as a recovering overachiever at the stove, can I say how freeing it is to let go of this idea that food must be hard fought and overwrought to be wonderful. It needn’t.

I still find the process of curating and creating an extravagant meal enchanting, but it’s ultimately sharing the end product of all that labor with the people I care about that counts. That’s what we cooks thrive on. At our core, I do believe that most cooks, even those who love the process deeply, want to be loved for our food. We share it as an act of devotion, and what we hope for in return—the accolades, the satisfied bellies—are equally as satiating to us as the meal may be to our friends or family. “Here is my heart,” we say. “Bon appétit.”

And while the creation of these ideal meals is rewarding, the hard truth is that it’s also draining. As calming as my time in the kitchen may be when I’m lost in kneading bread or stirring risotto, entertaining can be more frenetic than zen. By the time I’ve done the work and sometimes have redone it, I too am kind of, well, done. Consider the tart crust: “Yes, I thought adding ground pecans to the pastry would be just right for the lemon sabayon, but it’s actually nuttier than I’d hoped, so just give me a half hour to make another batch.” Or this one: “Yes, I know we don’t need both pâté and rillettes for appetizers, but it just feels more, well, more. Please go get the chicken livers . . . oh, and some fresh raspberries if they look nice?”

We all know the saying about how it’s the journey and not the destination, but when it comes to entertaining, it’s equally about both. The act of cooking offers its own soul-soothing benefits, but when we try too hard, we can easily lose sight of what all the work is really about: not culinary acrobatics to rival restaurant fare, not worrying about the sauce curdling or the chicken charring, and certainly not fretting about whether it’s Instagram worthy, but being where we want to be—sipping and snacking with the people we love.

It’s taken me way too long to figure out that my favorite food experiences are often over the kitchen counter or standing midway between the sink and the stove, so caught up in the conversation at hand that simmering pots are neglected and salad dressings are left half-made. What’s come to me at last is that many of the most compelling discussions and deepest fits of laughter happen in between the making and the meal itself. These moments are perfect because they have all the features one hopes for in the feast without the organization, orchestration, and yes, exhaustion. So why not liberate ourselves and embrace the truth? So often it’s the snacks, the tastes in between, that make our hearts race. And they too can be sophisticated, I assure you.

It’s the Snacks That Get Me

Over the years, what I cook and eat has changed. Even how I cook and eat has altered. Some of this is likely the natural result of cooking for a living. As I spend so much time and energy thinking about food for others, when it comes to cooking at home, I’m guilty of giving in to routine and laziness. But I’ve come to see this as a gift; I can throw dinner together thoughtfully but without too much heavy lifting (mental or physical). Yet there’s more to it than just giving in to what is simple to make; it’s also that these days I choose to eat in a simpler fashion. What I crave is food that’s blatantly unfussy and only lightly touched but still varied and a bit peripatetic.

Today I’m drawn to small dishes, but instead of forming full meals around them, I’m happy to surrender to a more free-form, wandering sensibility, to indulge in the pleasure of being a culinary vagabond. A small plate of crispy favas with fried parsley makes me happy, as does a more robust platter of fig panzanella, the bread soaked and softened by a bright vinaigrette. A slice of tortilla—slivered potatoes nestled between custardy egg and a bit of shrimp and jamón—nibbled over the counter when it’s just about five o’clock and there’s a glass of white wine to be had is often all it takes to make me feel the world is steady.

These are my favorite food events, what I refer to as the “in-between meals.” The snacks shared standing over the stove with a tipple in hand, during that hour so commonly called “happy,” when I’m gathered at the kitchen island with friends and a smattering of random bites. It’s the snacks that get me. And often it’s their haphazard nature that’s so seductive. Yes, snacking is my meal of choice. It can be one dish or ten, it can be a collection of toasts or a platter of greens and a jar of pickles. No matter the curation, it’s when we all seem most relaxed, when the food is less choreographed and the experience is more authentic. There doesn’t need to be a strict menu or sensibility to it, rather simply an array of delicious flavors set out in a thoughtful manner.