Dinner party

I finally got up the nerve, after nearly three months here, to have a small dinner party. The limitations of my kitchen are challenging, despite the amount of counter space. The electric stove isn't regulated and the heat is very difficult to control. The fridge is an under-the-counter model that would be at home in a dorm room. Generally it doesn't keep food cold enough except when turned up a bit, when it freezes all the produce. I have exactly three dinner plates. Until last night, when I discovered just before my guests arrived that one was broken, I had two wine glasses. The silverware was probably bought by the landlord for picnics, then 'donated' here when it got too funky. Still, I really wanted to thank Alan and Eleanor for their incredible generosity over the three months I've been here, and I thought I could do that better with a home-cooked meal than by taking them out to the only passable restaurant in town, to which in any event they had already taken me. So what if I had to figure out clever ways to cook in a wok, a tiny saute pan, a couple of lidded pots and a metal roasting pan.

Finding food to serve was a whole other challenge. My plan to have cold asparagus as a first course was thwarted when I got to my beloved organic farm shop to discover that the season ended last week. But Deirdre O'Sullivan, the farmer, had some gorgeous ripe figs from Spain on the counter, so I bought six. I got a huge head of her red lettuce, and a bag of already cleaned arugula, also from her garden.

I switched from lamb to chicken for the main course, concerned that I wouldn't be able to control the stove well enough to make a lamb dish; the butcher around the corner from my apartment cut up a gorgeous Irish chicken for me. I appealed to Niamh at the Eden Deli, where I had already ordered dessert (a lemon meringue pie) for help with the figs. She sold me a packet of serrano ham and a log of goat cheese and suggested I drizzle honey over the figs before serving them.

I had planned to serve rice with the chicken, but when I dropped by Nodlaig's house in the afternoon there was a lug of new potatoes, just dug out of the ground by Nodlaig's nephew Brendon and still covered with good black Irish soil, waiting for me. I picked out the smallest ones and decided I would boil them up before rolling them in a bit of olive oil, sea salt and pepper.

When Alan and Eleanor arrived the candles were lit and some toasted almonds and olives were waiting. The fig, ham and rocket starter was on the table (I had two nice plates on which to serve them), the Chicken Marbella was in the oven, the potatoes and green beans were ready for their quick boiling, and a salad made from the organic lettuce was on the counter. I even had parsley and thyme grown in my back yard for garnishes.

I'm not sure if the meal was what my guests had in mind--fresh figs were new to them, and the chicken with its olives and figs is unusual despite its long-standing classic reputation in the States--but the conversation was lively, the food got eaten, and I felt that I had been able to express how much their hospitality had meant to me. I'll count the evening a success.