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A Downscaled Dinner February 14, 2010
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A Downscale Dinner
February 14, 2010

A few years ago, a fellow emailed me that he and a group of friends wanted to "reserve" our annual dinner, one of twenty or so that take place around Austin every February to benefit Project Transitions/Aids Services of Austin.

I had the feeling that this man was a sophisticated sort and I felt obligated to warn him, that while many of the dinners are held in upscale homes -- where guests are treated to very clean floors, nice linens, enough water glasses (so that water wouldn't have to be on demand, like in a drought), toilets that flush right, and all the other physical accoutrements connected to a fine meal -- this would be a bit different.

So I explained that while we were delighted that he and his friends wanted to come to a dinner at the farm, I must warn him that this experience might be a little "rough." Not that we were violent types who might fly off a hinge, but that the experience would certainly be replete with faulty details. We'd not be embarrassed of course, as we  are understanding of our home's sags and sighs. It suits us.

He responded that they were totally game for that sort of experience!. It turned out that they were in good cheer through the entire meal. Perhaps the wine helped.

Of course the dinner is always in February, and it's dark early, but the group had never been to the farm, so they wanted a farm tour. In the dark. I would have to lead them with the flashlight. This flashlight is very important to Larry and me, as it is our supplemental lighting, outside and inside the farm house.

You know of course, that in the pioneer days, there was no electricity in this house, and 169 years later, still, there is not enough to fully light the rooms. To find anything in a corner or in a stack of something, we have to retrieve the flashlight, and to not know where the flashlight is causes a bit of panic. But really, sanguinely relying on a flashlight seems a sign of laziness, maybe even trashiness, I think. Even with this character flaw, however, we generally are able to locate our what-evers in the dark.

And so, like a nervous lieutenant-hen on point, I lead the guests on the oddly dangerous tour, explaining what crops they were kind of seeing and warning them about every water faucet they were fixing to trip over (lawyers came to mind and I bet there were one or two in the mix). It was cold, so the tour was accomplished briskly. We wound up at the Hen House where we discussed all things chicken, with the hens and the lone rooster looking into the flash light wondering if this was the end? Maybe on this cold and windy night, they would join all the chickens they've heard about, whose corpses are buried headless, feetless, and naked, in Styrofoam coffins, swaddled in plastic, in a brilliantly-lit "Hen Heaven." Maybe all these folks were the undertakers. Yes, this dinner was a bit rough, even for those trying to sleep.

Meanwhile, the veggies were getting overcooked in the oven, as although Larry promised to be in charge of them, he instead was visiting with other, non-touring, guests. You might say it's a fine talent to have, this avoidance of the mundane, and accordingly, without supervision, the veggies looked a bit worse for their heated experience.

I apologized, but the guests cheerfully pronounced all was great. Well, the salad was great, as all it had to do was sit there with no overseeing at all.

The dinner turned out to be a lot of fun, and the same group has booked the farm experience each of the last few years, wondering each year how the initial experience can be topped.

Understanding the challenge, last year, I eliminated the dining room in our house (for it was used only for this dinner and perhaps a family feed every once in a while, and most of the family graciously “prefers” to be standing up, milling around, not unlike cattle in a feed lot). We would have to host the PT event in the farm stand. Whew, now that would be an extreme dinner. Outside, in the farm stand, on a cold night in February. What a chance I was taking.

But last year's February came at the tail end of a warmer than usual winter, and it worked out well.

So, of course we had the dinner out there again, last Saturday, during this colder-than-normal winter. The air promised to be pretty chilly, 45 degrees, but I warned the guests to dress as if they were feasting on Mt. Everest or somewhere else absurd. They did, with sweaters, over coats, wool caps, etc. The farm stand is swathed in plastic walls and one of the two standing heaters worked. Larry tinkered with the other one, but it refused to cooperate.

Gail (Lake Travis Lavender) and I placed the farm stand tables diagonally in an "X", and covered them with the white sheets that used to serve as our house curtains before we became more concerned with home decor. They were wrinkled. Gail wished for a steam iron, but I brushed off that idea, as by now, I have to claim wrinkled as my "style." Where the tables came together, I made a center piece of whatever on the farm looked interesting. A bit of whimsy is needed when you ask folks to risk pneumonia to attend a fund raiser, even if the cause is noble. So I fetched one of Little Dove's rocks, the limestone one full of holes, set it on some cabbage leaves, and filled the holes with blue marbles and purple pansies. Gail's  potted lavender plants were on point, along with equally aromatic branches of winter honeysuckle. Little tea lights substituted for the flash light. Christmas lights overhead, which of course are standard lighting for market days, provided more atmosphere. Pretty bizarre actually, but then the entire setting was not normal you know.

The food, however, was incredibly UPscale! Loncito's grass-fed lamb (not chicken) was the featured meat, with our veggies and salad rounding it out. Instead of me dashing away from an oven full of perversely roasting veggies, Chefs Morgan Dishman Angelone and Sarah Haynie of Olivia Restaurant executed each of the seven courses as only talented professionals can do. Wes Marshall, author and wine expert for the Austin Chronicle, as usual, chose fabulous wines, and he and his wife Emily, helped out with waiting the tables. I, however, didn't help with anything. What a sloth I was.


I even left it all out there at the end of the night, and when I went to the farm stand in the morning to clean up, there was a feral cat eating leftovers that were hurriedly stashed in a bus tub and destined for the Hen House. You can't blame him for having exquisite taste! If only he could have showed up before the end of the dinner! It would have been the finishing touch of our, ahem, quite downscale, wrinkled style.

Carol Ann
 
PS: Many thanks to Morgan, Sarah, and Olivia Restaurant, Loncito Cartwright(lamb), Dan Sondgeroth(sweet potatoes) and our farmhands, for the fabulous food! And thank you intrepid guests! I hope you survived!

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