I have a weird mix of guests at tomorrow’s dinner party. There are the folks with the typical American palate (won’t touch any protein other than chicken, detest vegetables, and believe that grains are weapons of torture). Then there are the chi-chi fru-fru vegetarians who want exotic flavors and bright colors. Then there’s me. And N. And then there are kids. One is too little to expect much, so that’s a relief. Another is a super picky eater. And the third is Klara.
So I’m doing baked chicken thighs and mashed potatoes for the Americans. Vegetarians get portobello mushroom steaks with fresh basil, heirloom tomatoes and parmesan on top plus a salad with 3 kinds of sprouts, radishes, cucumbers, pine nuts, and soft-boiled eggs. Thank God, they are not vegan. I can do great vegan but it takes a buttload of time.
I need to remember to pick up ketchup because I heard that you can get anything into the picky eater if you douse it in a gallon of ketchup. The ketchup-loving vegetable hater is the child of the chi-chi vegetarian, by the way. It’s hilarious how that works.