Rocking the salad roll.

I wouldn't say I had a complete breakdown on Tuesday, but I wasn't far off. Thankfully I was alone when -- a mere two hours into what I'm calling Project Salad Roll -- I muttered aloud: What the hell was I thinking? An hour later, it slipped out again. Several times. To no one in particular. Then, half an hour after that, as I was bagging up five little boxes each containing five bundles of shrimp, slaw and vermicelli, I burst: These fuckers better be worth it. Forgive me, but I'd invested nearly four hours on what I thought would be a quick snack.

When I arrived at my friend's house a bit later, I was thrilled (nay, relieved) that they still looked good. Sure, they weren't nearly as pretty as the salad rolls I've had in restaurants, and some of them were sporting holes and leaking a bit, but they tasted good. I knew this for a fact because for every half dozen I managed to wrap semi-correctly, I botched at least one, which of course had to be eaten. I thought it a miracle I actually wanted to eat more of them, but I did. They were that good: the gelatinous chew of the vermicelli next to the crunch of the julienned cucumbers; the salty meat of the shrimp dotted with a brilliantly fragrant red cabbage and carrot slaw.

True to my spirit, I'd gone rogue in my planning; what was intended to be a buffet of individually julienned vegetables, turned into a slaw that stole the show. To the cabbage and carrots, I added basil, lovage and raw shallot. At the last minute, there was some raw ginger and lime juice, rice vinegar and sesame oil. Was it too much? Had my delicate dish been compromised?

Carrying the plate from the kitchen to my friends outside, my emotions were akin to a child's on the first day of school. I was excited and a bit nervous, scared of rejection and fearful that everyone but me would be allergic to shellfish. Did I imagine the "oohs" and "aahs" as I lowered the platter to the table? My friends aren't the kind who blow smoke, of that I am certain. So when they said they were good, I believed them. When they went back for seconds, I sighed. And when one friend exclaimed excitedly that my salad rolls looked like orchids, my heart swelled. The hours spent crouched on a step stool next to my kitchen table -- bowls of warm water on both sides, scads of ingredients all around -- did not fade from memory, but almost turned fond.

Yeah, the fuckers were worth it, all right.

You'll forgive me further, I hope, for not sharing the complete salad roll recipe, because there really isn't one to share. Buy a bag of rice papers, some shrimp and vermicelli, channel some patience and experiment like mad. Some tips I found useful:

-- Be sure to soak rice papers in warm warm water. You should be able to touch it, but the water shouldn't be too cool. Change water frequently, if necessary.

-- Compose rolls themselves on the glass plate. Wet rice papers stick to cutting boards.

-- Have a spray bottle of water on hand. Composed rolls should remain damp. I misted mine, then wrapped them in plastic wrap.

-- Relax. You're going to make mistakes. That just means more chances to sample the goods!

If you feel inclined to give salad rolls a go, try using this slaw. It's an attractive and interesting way to compose an otherwise orderly dish. Besides, it makes your prep work a whole lot easier. Salad rolls, I now know, aren't meant to be easy. But no one ever said pleasure was painless.

Asian-style slaw for salad rolls

Ingredients

1 small head red cabbage
5 small carrots, peeled
1 1" piece of raw ginger, peeled
1 small shallot
1/2 cup basil
1/2 cup lovage
1/2 tablespoon sesame oil
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
Juice of 1 lime
Sea salt, to taste

Using a food processor (or mandolin, or your own little hands), shred cabbage, carrots, ginger, shallot, basil and lovage.

Whisk together sesame oil, vinegar and lime juice.

In a large bowl, mix vegetables and dressing. It will be fairly dry, that's OK. The vegetables will sweat some.

Salt to taste.

Will make roughly 30 small salad rolls, or individually serve 6-8 people.

Scenes from a dinner party.

It wasn't meant to be a party per se, but what started as an intimate and relaxed meal at home with friends turned out to be one of the finest nights I've had in a long while. There were cocktails and chit chat while I finished cooking, followed by lively conversation and laughs and a Vietnamese feast. I made braised tofu in caramel sauce for the second time, along with a chili and cucumber salad that simultaneously burned and soothed my lips in the best way possible. We drank Riesling and Pinot Noir. After dinner one guest, who is Swiss and arrived in New York yesterday afternoon, shared cheese and chocolate and a very good bottle of absinthe. We left the dishes and retreated to the living room, where we listened to The Mamas & the Papas on vinyl and let sleep set in. And it was a fine sleep, full of aquamarine dreams inspired by a good day's work and some damn good tofu. Below, some scenes captured by Tracy.

Improvisation.

The other night, as I licked the last of my applesauce from my plate and contemplated the sauces of my future, my friend Tracy appeared, all smiles and a spunky new hat. Immediately, I felt guilty for not having saved her a bite, because this stuff tasted like a holiday party not to be missed. I confessed to feeling a bit piggish and promised to make more soon, before giving her a quick run down of my day in the kitchen. That's when she caught me off-guard with four little words: Do you ever miss. "That's funny," I laughed aloud. Do I ever miss?

I wish I could've answered her with an assured "no," but in truth, I'm forced to improvise often -- from lack of planning, lack of proper ingredients (file under lack of planning), biting off more than I can chew, distraction. I thought of a salad I made recently for the opening of a friend's gallery: crispy delicata squash and shaved apple salad. If it sounds good it's because it was, but it was not what I intended. I planned a roasted delicata squash and shaved apple salad, buttery soft bits of squash that would melt in mouths of art lovers, tart bursts of apple. Then I burned the squash, prompting an internal debate over whether -- when entertaining -- it's better to have a table heaped with snacks (some nearly blackened) or a less-bountiful spread that's a sure thing. To my surprise, I chose the former, arguing that despite the crispy edges of the squash pieces, the salad was very good. So good, in fact, several guests asked for the recipe.

Of course, I would not have served it if I thought it was inedible, so it wasn't quite a miss. But it was close.

Crispy delicata squash and shaved apple salad

Ingredients

Three medium delicata squash, halved, seeded, cut into 1/4" pieces (skins on)
Two medium red-skinned apples
1/3 cup parsley, chopped
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
Juice of 1 lemon
Salt and pepper, to taste

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

In large mixing bowl, toss squash segments in 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, taking care that each piece is lightly coated. If needed, do this step in batches.

Place segments in a single layer on two baking sheets. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Roast until underside of squash blisters and can be pierced easily with a fork (20-25 minutes). Allow to cool slightly (20 minutes).

Meanwhile, core and thinly slice apples. In a large mixing bowl, toss apples with lemon juice and parsley. Add cool squash, remaining olive oil and vinegar.

Season to taste.

Serves 10-12.

Welcome to The Stock Agency.

We're happy you're here.

Tonight we are celebrating years of dreaming and months of hard work. I designed this menu with Tamara -- a vegetarian -- in mind. Some of our best times have taken place around a table, breaking bread, trading stories.

All food is local (most is organic) unless otherwise noted:

Spiced olives, Grand Central Bakery baguette.

Roasted hazelnuts.

Rainbow carrots, sea salt.

Cypress Grove Humboldt Fog.

Hummus, cracked pepper crackers.

Roasted beets, thyme, olive oil, sea salt.

Crispy delicata squash and shaved apple salad.

Sautéed shitake mushrooms, elephant garlic, parsley.

Autumnal sangria -- apples, brandy, pears.

A twist on tabbouleh.

Whether it be for a picnic or a dinner party, I never plan a meal without considering my guests. When planning the vegetarian option for my New York Cares Day lunches, I wanted something more interesting than a veggie sandwich or pasta salad, something volunteers would be excited to receive and nourished by. For obvious reasons, I needed the lunches to be hearty and satisfying, and I needed items I could make in advance and that did not require refrigeration. Because they are both vegan, hummus and tabbouleh fit the bill. Along with a hunk of Sfoglia bread, an apple and chocolate cookie, it's a lunch I'd eat any day (and I often do).

Shopping my neighborhood markets, I had a hard time finding bulgar. A friend suggested I use couscous, but I prefer quinoa to most grains for its nutritional benefits. I was able to find gorgeous local onions and parsley at the farmer's market, but I was forced to buy mint and tomatoes at the supermarket and so scaled back on both for this recipe. This made for a tabbouleh-style salad with considerable more bulk. Although I typically eat salads such as this one in the summer, especially a green-heavy tabbouleh, variations are still possible for the coming weeks. I plan to make a version that eliminates mint and substitutes raw grated beets for tomatoes. Finely chopped kale and even apple make delicious additons, too. I like to make grain-based salads in advance, and package them in individual servings for a grab-and-go lunch.

Tabbouleh-style quinoa salad

Ingredients

1 cup dry quinoa, cooked and cooled to room temperature
1/2 medium yellow onion, diced
1/4 cup mint, chopped
1 bunch parsley, chopped
1 medium firm tomato, seeded and diced
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon
Salt, to taste

In a large mixing bowl, combine quinoa, onion, mint, parsley and tomato. Toss lightly.

Add extra-virgin olive oil and lemon juice. Toss until coated.

Season to taste.

Serves 4.

The Deather of Thursday morning.

Among other things, I'm a bartender. I don't think I've let this little fact slip through, and the only reason I mention it now is because Tuesday night was a big one for me. A month ago, I was invited to participate in a cocktail contest for "the" Rachel Maddow, host of The Rachel Maddow Show(s) on Air America and MSNBC. The invitation alone was a thrill, a sort of I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me moment that inspired conceit and jitters and -- ultimately -- fear that I'd fail horribly and "the" Rachel Maddow would not come over to my house to hang out and watch Keith Olbermann. Hosted by the fine folks at Gothamist as a follow-up to this interview, the event was an intimate gathering of bartenders (nay "mixologists"), Gothamist staff, Ms. Maddow and a smattering of friends. The parameters for the contest were loose. We were asked to create a Scotch cocktail, and we were told Maddow was interested in moving beyond the Blood and Sand (a reference to the Prohibition-era cocktail made with Scotch, sweet vermouth, cherry brandy and orange juice). Knowing this, I veered away from sweeter liquors and created a riff on the classic Sazerac. I named my drink in honor of a current Maddow joke (which, I am pleased to report, made her laugh).

The Deather

2 1/4 ounces Scotch whiskey
1/2 ounce Lillet Blanc
2 dashes Highland Heather bitters*
Absinthe

Muddle one cube sugar and a wedge of fresh lemon with bitters.

Combine with ice, Scotch and Lillet.

Stir, and pour into an chilled, absinthe-rinsed martini glass.

Garnish with a lemon twist.

Gothamist reports the contest a tie, but I still feel like boasting. I got 5 minutes with Rachel Maddow. Rachel Maddow made me a cocktail. Perhaps the best news: The Deather will be featured on the fall cocktail list at Buttermilk Channel. For political reasons, I may have to change the name. The Maddow has a nice ring to it, no?

* Note: Artisan bitters made for Buttermilk Channel in Brooklyn. Can be replaced with the traditional Peychaud's Bitters.

A potato salad for all seasons.

I gave up French fries for summer: an admittedly silly attempt to watch my waistline and heart health, because things felt a little out of hand. Initially when I swore off the chips, I thought I'd discover worthy substitutions. But I didn't even try. Not seriously, anyway. I did slow roast countless batches of spuds in olive oil with fresh herbs (the ones below were with dill flower and garlic scapes, and they were spectacular), but I decided almost immediately upon taking my fry-free oath that the only way I would succeed (and survive) was to simply ignore my cravings and ride out the season. I confess to cheating twice: once on vacation (so it didn't really count), and once when I was eating mussels and so ordered the compulsory fries and failed to even remember my vow until I was down to maybe 10, and at that point...

A month into my experiment, I came across a recipe on the consistently lovely Blue Hour blog: salt and vinegar potato salad. Like chips, but not fried. It was the answer to my summer dilemma, so I bookmarked the recipe and promised myself I'd make it as soon as I could. But as the days passed and I kept thinking about that recipe, I realized that potato salad, like mussels, has stipulations. Mussels need frites, and potato salad needs a party, preferably in the park, with a gentle bit of sunshine and a slight breeze.

Of course, my fry-free summer was shy on garden parties, due to travel, weather and that thing we call work. But last Monday, on what may have been the last day of summer, I whipped up 10 pounds of this salad for a little soirée in Prospect Park. And it was awesome -- the perfect complement to the fresh-shucked oysters and pulled pork sandwiches. The vinegar onions are much more subtle than you'd expect, almost sweet. And the oil and vinegar dressing was, as always, perfect. Thankfully, there was enough left over for me to eat two more helpings when I got home, at which point I made one last promise: I'm going to make potato salad an all-seasons food, because this salad is as good as French fries. 

Not better, but better for you. And wasn't that my whole point?

Salt and vinegar potato salad
Adapted from Gourmet

Ingredients

1 large red onion, cut into 1/4" segments and separated
5 pounds medium potatoes (Gourmet recommends Yukon Gold, I used russet)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to finish
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
2 1/2 teaspoons Old Bay seasoning
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/4 teaspoons sugar

In large bowl, mix 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Add onion and toss. Marinate at room temperature, tossing occasionally, until onion softens and turns pink (1 hour).

In large pot, cover potatoes with cold salted water. Bring to a boil, then simmer uncovered until tender (20 minutes). Drain and allow to cool, then peel and slice into 1/2" wedges.

In separate bowl, whisk together Old Bay seasoning with sugar, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, and 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar.

Add potatoes to onion mixture, and toss with vinegar mixture and extra-virgin olive oil.

Season to taste. Finish with additional oil if necessary.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

Serves 10-12.

The morning after.

I've been devouring (or, I could say re-devouring) the letters of Martha Gellhorn, a/k/a Mrs. Ernest Hemingway III; I'm absolutely crazy about her. Her writing is candid and sharp and admirably self-deprecating, and I wish she were still alive so I could write her letters half as good as the ones in this book. I know loads of people -- myself included -- who lament the death of letters. Reading Gellhorn's, I'm reminded of a time in which I journaled and wrote little notes to my family and friends. I was too young then to practice the sort of discourse Gellhorn was clearly born for, but now...well, now is different. The only thing stopping me is my lack of ability. Or, is it my lack of time?

These are the same excuses I use for not cooking a certain meal or entertaining certain groups of friends. Like conversation and letter writing, dining (both in and out) is an art, and it's one I strive to practice well. These all are traditions that nurture familial bonds, friendships and romances. They inspire conversation and ideas. They nourish both literally and figuratively. I believe all this, but I believe this, too: "... I think parties are really the last refuge of the empty and shrivelled brain, and are more destructive to the body than cocaine and more destructive to the spirit than jail." Martha Gellhorn wrote that to Alexander Woollcott in 1942, the morning after. I take from it this: our time is precious, let us use it wisely.

The heat goes on...

I arrived home tonight from another trip to Southern California, and I realized on the flight back that these last five days may well have been the last of my summer jaunts. Sadly, they weren't spent relaxing, but wrapping up some family business. Still, I found time for a Double-Double and chocolate shake from In-N-Out (aren't they pretty up there?), and I even did a little cooking. As always, I was amazed by the local produce: in my aunt and uncle's kitchen, I was greeted by a heaping bowl of pomegranates (a fruit I associate with Christmas, but was surprised to learn grows this time of year in sunny SoCal); their garden was over-flowing with little cherry tomatoes, summer squash and squash blossoms; and even the larger supermarkets had plentiful displays of local greens (and red and yellows).

The above tomatoes aren't from California, they're from Garden of Eve Farm on Long Island. Just as I started to write off this year's tomato crop, my CSA share turned out some gorgeous heirlooms and slicing tomatoes. Typically when the weather is warm, my cooking amounts to little more than a few chops and slices, a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt. The thing I am willing to turn on the stove for (and the dish I keep turning to for an easy hors d'oeuvres, quick lunch or savory side dish) is crostini, or bruschetta. As far as I can tell, the difference between bruschetta and crostini is in the treatment of the bread. For bruschetta, bread is rubbed with garlic and olive oil, and for crostini, it is not. I suppose, then, that bruschetta is a type of crostini, I also bet there's a nonna somewhere who will gladly correct me.

Crost -- err, bruschetta -- makes great use of tomatoes. Simply thinly slice bread (I like Amy's seeded wheat), rub each slice with a garlic clove and drizzle with olive oil, then top with tomatoes and Parmiggiano-Reggiano. I prefer to broil everything together -- allowing the flavors to melt into one glorious garlic-tinged cheesy tomato crouton -- and top with fresh basil. If you prefer your tomatoes a little sturdier, toast your garlic-rubbed and oiled bread before proceeding with raw tomatoes. When those are gone, you can substitute pickled eggplant or stewed peppers or whatever else comes to mind (raw corn, roasted peaches, poached apples, sautéed kale...I could do this all day).

Call it what you want. Just don't call me late for dinner.

It was hot, we ate vegetarian.

I laugh at myself often for fronting a flippant attitude toward cooking and entertaining. While it's true I'm not a planner like, say, Martha Stewart, I'm not exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl (I wish I was, but I'm not). Last week, I didn't have much time to prepare for my dinner party in advance; I had a lot of time to think about it, though. I spent countless hours meditating on the menu, chatting with food friends about their favorite meals to serve, and perusing cookbooks and Web sites for inspiration. I had decided the meal would be vegetarian, since one of my guests is a devout one, and I wondered briefly whether my other guests would mind. I decided it was important to accommodate my vegetarian friend (to paraphrase another friend who's also a vegetarian: nothing's worse than going to a dinner party and having to eat a bunch of side dishes, like you were an after thought). Beyond that, though, I did nothing. On Saturday, I surveyed my weekly CSA share, and on Sunday, still undecided but feeling inspired (by the weather, by my produce, by my love for accessible, simple and -- dare I say? -- sexy foods), I asked myself a very important question: What sounds good?

Here's what I came up with:

Campari and soda, lime

Spicy olives courtesy of the Bedford Cheese Shop
Tortilla Española
Ombra NV Prosecco

Chilled cucumber and coconut purée, roasted beets
Broadbent NV Vinho Verde

Spaghetti with roasted summer squash, Parmigiano-Reggiano, lemon
Mixed greens
Italo Pietrantonj 2006 Montepulciano d'Abruzzo

Mast Bros. Chocolate

Part Italian, part Spanish, it was a Mediterranean feast! The only thing missing was a terrace. I'm still giving myself little back pats and smiling smugly; it was so nice. And easy. And good. And did I mention easy? Had I planned ahead, this meal would've taken 30 minutes to assemble. Instead, it took roughly two hours; not bad, considering.

When cooking multi-course meals such as this one, I like to prep (i.e. wash, chop, mince, slice, peel, deseed, etc.) everything I'll need to cook the meal before I start actually cooking. I find it makes the process so much easier, and it kind of makes me feel like I'm on the Food Network. Once that's done, I strategize, or map out the order in which I'll do what. Since the cucumber purée required several hours to chill, I started there, first sautéing some onions and garlic before pulling out the food processor to blend together the remaining ingredients. Once that was done and in the fridge (er, freezer), I tackled the tortilla -- a common Spanish tapas made of thinly-sliced potato and onion, cooked with egg, olive oil and salt. A tortilla is typically served at room temperature, so I let mine cool at the heart of the table while I set our places around it. Meanwhile, I had a handful of beets roasting in the oven (a foolproof way to roast vegetables quickly, I like to make a "hobo-pack." Fill parchment paper or foil with washed and trimmed vegetables, a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. In roughly 40 minutes at 400 degrees*, beets will be tender with skins that easily rub away).

With the first two courses done, only the pasta remained, and that I saved until just before we sat to eat. Campari and soda in-hand, I set the water to boil, and while the pasta cooked for roughly 10 minutes, I halved and juiced a lemon, and tossed some already roasted summer squash and Parmigiano-Reggiano into a bowl. When the pasta was done, I quickly drained and tossed it into the bowl with a drizzle of olive oil. The heat from the pasta melted the cheese, lemon and oil into a bright but delicate sauce that allowed for the earthy flavor of the summer squash to shine. Surprisingly, it was the hit of the night, although I can't stop thinking about the chilled cucumber purée, so refreshing and simple. I think, along with this chocolate, it's my new summer staple.

Chilled cucumber and coconut purée with roasted beets
Adapted from Martha Stewart Living

Ingredients

4 medium cucumbers, peeled, seeded and sliced in 1/4" segments
5 small to medium-sized beets, roasted (see above)
2 medium onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups coconut yogurt (or 1 1/2 cups plain yogurt)
3/4 cup water
3 tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to finish
Juice of 1 lemon (if substituting plain yogurt, use the juice of 1/2 lemon)
1/2 cup fresh dill or parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper, to taste

Heat olive oil in a medium-sized skillet over medium heat, add onions, garlic, and a pinch of salt. Cook until onions are translucent, add 1/4 cup water. Cover and cook until soft (2 minutes). Let stand until cool.

In a food processor, combine onions, garlic and cucumbers. Process until smooth. Add coconut yogurt, another pinch of salt, and 1/2 cup water. Process until smooth.

Refrigerate mixture in a covered bowl for at least two hours.

Before serving, stir in dill or parsley and lemon juice. Salt and pepper, to taste.

Garnish with chilled, roasted beets and additional parsley.

Serves 6-8.

* Note: Cooking time is approximate and could vary depending on vegetable type.

My No. 1 summer essential.

Last Friday, my house was a flurry as my three roommates packed and readied for jaunts abroad: Jason to Greece, and Michael and Greg to Spain (expect a guest post from Michael upon return). Not wanting to add to the confusion, I planned to spend most of the day out of the house. Instead, I spent the late morning and early afternoon at our kitchen table, a big old farm-style table we salvaged off Craigslist from some guy in the East Village years ago. It's the center of our home, and from my seat on Friday I enjoyed watching my friends pack their bags, exchange travel tips and leave me detailed instructions on how to care for our many plants. Around 1 p.m., we were all a little hungry, and Jason wondered aloud if he should leave early to have lunch out. Knowing we had more food than I could possibly eat myself, I told him to go out for some beer and that I would make lunch.

Quick and easy lunches are almost as good as long leisurely ones; they certainly can be as restorative and satisfying. As always, I like to seek inspiration from my favorites: Chez Panisse in Berkley (love the new Web site), Le Languedoc on Nantucket, Mass., and Blaue Gans here in New York. Friday, I prepared for ours by boiling a few eggs and putting together a cheese platter with some aged cheddar and feta. Next, I washed some lettuce from our CSA share, chopped a garlic scape and a handful of raw almonds, and mixed an oil and vinegar dressing. Finally, I tossed some leftover spaghetti with marina (I didn't even bother reheating it) with some extra-virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar and red pepper flakes. So it was a little more Italian than French or German, it was still delicious and a nice way to say "bon voyage."

While recounting the afternoon to a friend yesterday, I realized none of it would've been possible without a few staples, the things I can't cook without. My list of must haves is short: good coffee, extra virgin olive oil, a handful of vinegars (I like this white wine vinegar from Zingerman's in Ann Arbor, Mich.) and lemons. With these four things in my possession, I feel like I can conquer the world, or at the very least entertain a few hungry stomachs. Of course, actual food is required to do the latter, and what's in the house varies depending on season. For now, it's loads of gorgeous produce from Garden of Eve Farm, like bok choy, frisée, kale, lettuces, cucumbers, dill, garlic scapes, summer squash and this thing:

That's kohlrabi, and it's not as scary as it looks. But until I decide what to do with it, I'm sticking to what I know best.

The only salad dressing you'll ever need (really)

So fresh and simple, a nice oil and vinegar salad dressing will allow for quality produce to speak for itself. And the best part is, variations abound: olive oils and vinegars range from sweet to spicy, and fresh-squeezed grapefruit or lime juice can easily replace the lemon. Chopped herbs or cheese (a crumbly blue or feta works well) can be added for texture.

Ingredients

2 parts extra-virgin olive oil
1 part white wine vinegar
1 part lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

In a large boil, whisk together above ingredients. Add desired produce. Delicately mix by hand.

I'm planning a dinner party.

Two dear friends are visiting me next week from Portland, Ore., and I want to throw them a party, a dinner party, the kind of affair that strikes boredom in the hearts of some and sheer excitement in the hearts of others. I obviously fall into the latter category, although my excitement can be peppered with stress and long lists of to-dos (clean bathroom, fluff pillows, pull extra wine glasses from storage). This is often made worse by the fact that I am not a planner. I prefer spontaneity, which means I won't think about food until I assess my weekly CSA goods and run to the market the day before. Wine is a bit easier, since in the summer I love a good rose or Txakolina or -- even better -- this killer Txakolina rose from my local wine shop. However, one bit of planning is best taken care of sooner rather than later: the guest list. This dinner will be small, since I prefer intimate dinner parties; my table seats eight, which leaves me five invitations to extend. Although I could call my guests or shoot them a quick email, I like to use crush3r.com. I've always admired handwritten invitations, but sometimes I just don't have time. Crusher makes sending a clean, smartly designed invite hassle free; neither you nor your guests have to create an account, but you might want to.