February 19, 2015
Threw a rather insane party the other night here in LA. Tiny rented house. Five chairs. Five plates. Five forks. But people who’d said they couldn’t come kept texting to say their time had suddenly freed up, and before we knew it a dozen of us were gathered in this little bungalow.
I told everyone to bring a plate and fork, and that we’d manage. It was, maybe, the best party I’ve ever given. About as un-Martha Stewart as possible. Totally mad. And somehow liberating.
I’d ordered a prime rib roast from Snake River Farms. It emerged from the oven all crisp, brown and fragrant and I prayed it was going to be rare. (No meat thermometer.) As it rested, I realized that a sharp knife is another thing this rented kitchen lacks .
“Do you have a saucer?” asked Hiro. “I’ll sharpen the knife.” And as you can see, that’s exactly what he did!
By the time he was finished that knife was really sharp.
And the prime rib? Excellent. (Snake River, incidentally, has a sale through the end of the month.)
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