Dinner for 12?

I love a good dinner party. I am that person who registered for china knowing very well that I would use it with gusto and would build upon it as the years go by. My only obstacle as far as I can tell is t not having a dishwasher, but I’ve been willing to work through that in exchange for Vera Wang on a freshly pressed white tablecloth.

I was raised by parents who loved to entertain. My parents hosted dinners for 4 and parties for 50 both with relative ease and I tried to teach me that keeping things simple is the way to go when you are inviting people to your home. Truthfully, I break that rule on a regular basis. I love to go a little overboard (fresh sprigs of rosemary in hand-folded napkins anyone?), but I think it's fun and if I have the time to bedazzle your name card, I will. For me it's an experiment in how over the top I can successfully be while still getting everything on the table looking great, tasting fantastic and with all a general sense of calm.

I like to pretend that I have my own show on the Food Network. I comb through recipes and cook books for the my favorite bits and pieces to serve and then lay all of my ingredients out on a table for the invisible cameras to see. I can almost feel Ina and Giada next to me as we exchange witty banter over how amazing my blueberries look and how lucky I am to live in a city where they make delicious sourdough for my croustini. For me it's a game and why not, it's fun. Getting your friends and family together to gather around a pot of something delicious is as old as time. It's a time to be creative, inventive and with pre-washed lettuce available it can be so simple.

I'm an hostess. I want to make you dinner, create a pretty place for you to sit, and make sure your wine glass is full. I want you to laugh and tell stories. I'll ask you to bring nothing but yourselves and promise to do all that I can to make your time enjoyable. Just don't crack my teacups and we'll get along just fine.

When you’re not a writer…– 1/9/12 NGB (the beginning)

I am not a writer. This is something that I’ve decided. Actually, I lied. This is something that was gently pounded into my soul and brain by one professor in college. He declared it to the class as a backhanded compliment – “Nicki can not write, but she understands what the author is saying…” there is more to that story, but why dwell on the past. His words were harsh, but more to the point, they were only half true.

I was an English major; bogged down by papers dedicated to subjects that only half interested me. I cannot and do not write papers, well. I run out of words, I run out of thoughts, I run out of interest! 20 pages about anything is too much, so I suppose, I’m not an essayist. I’ve decided that I will be a columnist. I will jump back into my journalism roots and find the short and sweet words to comment on what is going on that exact moment. Professor T beware; I’m going to challenge your idea of who you thought I was and prove that I may not be able to keep up with you in the classroom, but when was the last time someone needed to read an essay on The Tempest? Challenge taken. – NGB 1/9/12