Southern comfort. Julia Child French. Mediterranean. Tuscan. Kuala Lumpur street food. What do these all have in common? Well, not much really, except they have all been past themes for our Supper Club events. This Supper Club group of 8 just rocks if I do say so myself. We have been going strong now for over a year and recently met for our 9th dinner event with yet another new theme — French country.

The Supper Club rules are extremely lax and include a mishmash of the following, all of which will be broken at some point I am sure.

• We meet every other month.
• We alternate the host & hostess.
• Host chooses the theme, which can be anything at all. And I do mean anything.
• Host makes the course(s) he or she wishes and the remainder are up for grabs.
• Everyone in the group (4 couples) must like food. (Unspoken by-law here)
• There will be wine.

So off we went out to the burbs for the most recent French Country event. Nothing like the scent of rabbit bubbling in wine as you walk into a home on a cold January evening. As Thumper enjoyed his wine bath, the rest of us sipped French cocktails or glasses of wine (including a Sonoma County red from Ledson Winery, which is one of my husband’s favorites) and enjoyed the appetizers —   stuffed mushrooms and my pissaladiere nicoise (check out my weekly menu for more info on this traditional French tart). I battled with the all-butter tart crust most of the morning and finally nailed it — sort of. Taste and texture were fine, but I have yet to master transferring the delicate, flimsy dough to the tart pan without something going awry. Fortunately, the filling makes for a magical coverup. Unfortunately, I was not aware the hostess has an aversion to onions and olives, the two of which comprise the entire tart. Ah well, who knew? Other dishes included a fresh carrot soup, the rabbit braised with wine and mushrooms, a decadent aligot and bacony brussels sprouts lounging in cream. Mmmm cream. Butter. Cheese. Love those French!

So what’s the next theme? Our sassy friends decided to do a riff on the television show Chopped. Each couple is assigned a course and three ingredients that must be utilized in the final dish. I am charged with creating a first course using avocados, horseradish and mascarpone cheese. I have until March to perfect a recipe, so expect to see quite a bit of these ingredients in my upcoming menus. I am open to suggestions …

For the first time in our married life, we decided to stay home for New Year’s Eve. Let’s hope it was due to our dire need to recover from our NYC trip, rather than my quick ascent to 40.

Regardless, the relaxed evening gave me an opportunity to play in my kitchen. I followed Julia Child’s steak au Poivre recipe exactly, masses of butter included. Although the sauce was luxurious and perfectly pepper-corny, it was also a rather unappetizing dark grayish brown — somewhat like moth wings in fact. Perhaps a touch of cream and forgoing the cast iron skillet next time.

I played around quite a bit with Mario Batali’s roasted parsnips and much to my delight, they turned out fabulous. (I have made the original recipe before as well, and it is also delicious just as written). This time, however, I added brussels sprouts because I had them on hand and substituted warm chicken broth for the melted butter — had to make up somewhere for Julia’s butter-happy steak. The menu follows:

Appetizer: fresh, hand-pulled mozzarella

New Year’s Eve 2012:
Appetizer:
Freshly pulled homemade mozzarella cheese drizzled with olio Nuevo from California.
Hunks of crusty sourdough bread
Veuve Clicquot

Main Course:
Steak au Poivre a’ la Julia Child
Roasted parsnips with horseradish and prosecco courtesy of Mario Batali: (Parsnips)
A Napa Cabernet

Dessert:
Per Se leftovers — decadent dark chocolate truffles

Steak au Poivre & roasted parsnips

So my leaves and seeds plan? Not working out so well. I had been trying to eat light with limited sauces – poached/grilled chicken, salads, no carbs, etc — and then my work had the audacity to send me home with a spiral ham the size of three heads. Having zero plans for dinner outside of squirrel/birdie food, the ham was beginning to sound like a good idea. As I tore off the black netting and peered at the oily, pink meat, all I could think about was the amount of salt and fat in the pig that would surely puff up my fingers and render my wedding rings and my slinky Per Se dress too tight. Do I really want to feel like a sausage on the drive to NYC? Not such a hot plan. And, my dear husband certainly doesn’t need a crabby, puffy wife complaining for three hours that she is too sausagey to ever eat again. Alas, the ham went to very grateful neighbors instead. And, rather than send piggie off with its accompanying packet of “glaze” with a scary listing of ingredients (one of which resembled the medical term for a toenail fungus I regularly treat at work), I whipped up a homemade glaze in a fury of Christmasy cheer. Especially since the forking over of the ham was not even remotely altruistic. So piggie went to a good home, my husband was spared an annoying wife and I now, not only do I NOT feel like a sausage, but I have a new recipe for ham glaze: fresh tarragon, strong Dijon mustard, maple syrup and, but of course, leftover champagne (I know, I know, should be an oxymoron in a DINK household). I promise to do better next time.