Each year my mom hosts break-the-fast at her home, and I assume my regular sous chef role. Tonight we’re having 19 of our friends and family over to gorge in brunch foods past twilight. Hey, we deserve a little over-indulgence after 24 hours of painstaking reflection on our personal shortcomings and failures over the past year — assuaging our sorrows with not even a crumb! So why not make up all the meals you missed in one fell swoop?
During the day, I do allow myself my coffee with a drop of milk. Without it, I’d be crankier than a 3 yr-old on her first day of nursery school. And trust me, we don’t want that.
For those of you keeping the fast today, my apologies in advance for the tease. It’s cruel, I know. Read at your own risk.
Yesterday was prep prep prep. I love arranging food platters, like I love arranging flowers. The trick is to put everything in its place, but not too perfectly. A tuft of lettuce here balances slices of tomato there. A spring of parsley here allows pats of swiss to rest there. Other dishes come and go, but the bagels and fix-ins will always be a staple gobbled up without a hint of hesitation.
Mom and I munched on my open-faced roasted chicken sandwiches (toasted multigrain bread with avocado and sundried tomato mayo,) while I worked the platters and she, Bradley Ogden’s ‘warm bread and butter pudding with peach sauce’.
A certain dessert-maker’s rugelach are also a fixture, chewy with raisins and caramelized brown sugar, rolled into buttery, flaky nuggets of bliss. I want to write up said baker for the New Times, but her husband the lawyer put the kibosh on such publicity lest the underground operation be discovered. So scandalous! So priceless!