recipes for disaster by tess rafferty (excerpt)

Recipesfor

Disaster

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd i053-50936_ch00_4P.indd i 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd ii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd ii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Recipesfor

DisasterA Memoir

Tess RaffertyThomas Dunne Books St. Martin’s Press

New York

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd iii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd iii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

I like to drink. Th e events in this memoir happened as written to

the best of my memory, but as they all involve alcohol, one or two

details might be off . If you’re reading this book thinking, “Th at

didn’t happen that way! I was there!” well then, may I remind you

that you were probably drinking, too. Also, some of the names

and identifying characteristics have been changed so as to protect

the privacy of those involved and not cause further issues at my

next dinner party.

thomas dunne books.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

recipes for disaster. Copyright © 2012 by Tess Raff erty. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s

Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www .thomasdunnebooks .com

www.stmartins.com

Design by Anna Gorovoy

Raff erty, Tess.

Recipes for disaster : a memoir / by Tess Raff erty.—1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-250-01143-5 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-01834-2 (e-book)

1. Dinners and dining. 2. Dinners and dining—Humor. 3. Entertaining.

4. Entertaining—Humor. 5. Cooking. 6. Cooking—Humor. 7. Raff erty,

Tess. I. Title.

TX737.R244 2012

642—dc23

2012033164

First Edition: November 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd iv053-50936_ch00_4P.indd iv 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

To my grandparents, Mike and Mary Rose, who fi rst intro-

duced me to the idea that good food could be enjoyed in

the midst of great drama.

To Frank and Knoxie, who helped to develop my love of

sharing good meals.

And to Chris, who gives me someone to share these meals—

and my life— with.

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd v053-50936_ch00_4P.indd v 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd vi053-50936_ch00_4P.indd vi 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Contents

Ac know ledg ments xi

Prologue 1

1. How to Cook a Turkey, or Th e Stomach:

Not the Way to a Man’s Pants 7

RecipeRoasting a Turkey: So Not the Drama

Your Mother Made It Look Like 29

2. How to Have an Elegant Dinner Party

with No Furniture 35

RecipeApple Pie: Because Store- Bought Is for

People Who Don’t Love Th eir Boyfriends 55

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd vii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd vii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

viii Contents

3. How to Enjoy a Good Meal with Friends 61

RecipeKnoxie’s Cookies: For Someone

Whose Appetite for Food Is as

Big as Th eir Appetite for Life 77

4. How to Th row an Impromptu

Dinner Party for 7 at 1 a.m. 81

RecipeTh e Boyfriend’s Chili: Th e Colonic

You Can Drink With 95

5. How to Count Your Blessings 99

RecipeMolasses Cinnamon Bread: It’s What’s

for Breakfast If You’re Not Vomiting 111

6. How to Have a Fun Christmas Party

for Adults & Children, and Even the

Hosts (Yes, Th at Means You) 113

RecipeSugar Cookies & Frosting: Minutes of

Entertainment for Hyperactive Children 129

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd viii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd viii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Contents ix

7. How to Serve a Specialty Drink

with an Iron Fist 133

8. How to Th row a Baby Shower for 100

People and Not Hate Babies or People 149

RecipeHow to Set Up a Bar for 100 People

and Not Have 74 Bottles

of Snapple Left Over 167

9. How to Carry a Th eme Too Far 171

10. How to Learn to Love Yourself Again

After Serving Runny Polenta 183

RecipeBraised Short Ribs over Polenta:

All of the Flavor Without the Self- Hate 201

11. How to Pair Wine with Food and

Which Medical Weed to Never

Mix with Entertaining 205

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd ix053-50936_ch00_4P.indd ix 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

x Contents

12. How to Cook Without Cooking 219

RecipeSetting Up a Grilled- Cheese Station:

How to Make Your Guests

Cook Th eir Own Food 233

13. How to Cook a Gluten- Free Vegetarian

Dinner with No Lactose or Fruits or

Vegetables or Nuts 237

RecipeBraised Lamb Shank:

Not for the Gluten- Free 255

14. How to Th row a Dinner Party for 2

and Save Your Relationship 259

Epilogue: How to Have a Wedding

Dinner for 12 267

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd x053-50936_ch00_4P.indd x 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Acknowledgments

I am extremely grateful to so many people who

helped make this book a reality, in ways both direct and indi-

rect. First of all, to my agent Holly Root, who always believed

in my writing and was an endless source of help and hand-

holding as we honed this idea and made it work. And to my

lawyer, Chad Christopher, who brought Holly into my life

when I said I needed a book agent.

To Th e Soup writing staff , Lee Farber, Nic DeLeo, Andrew

Genser, Greg Fideler, Darren Belitsky, and Jonah Ray who en-

dured more than one writers’ dinner at my house and to our

chief, K.P. Anderson who was always understanding and

gave me the time to work on this when I needed to write.

And to the world’s best clip show jockey, Joel McHale, for his

enthusiastic support of this project.

To Christy Stratton Mann and Alex Alexander who par-

ticipated in the Girls’ Cooking Club experiments, which fi rst

gave me the idea that I might have something to say about

entertaining.

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xi053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xi 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

xii Acknowledgments

To Matthew Taylor for drawing the awesome Flaming

Weenie Tree.

To my talented friends who orchestrated an amazing

cover shoot when I called them in a panic: art director

Gary Kordan, photographer Justine Ungaro, and makeup

artist David Marvel.

To everyone who provided early support for this book:

Cathryn Michon, Adena Halpern, Deborah Vankin, and

Whitney Cummings.

To all of my agents at Paradigm: Doug Fronk, Chris

Licata, Jana Marimpietri, Shawn Scallon, and Ida Ziniti, as

well as to Johnathan Berry at 3 Arts, for all of their enthusi-

asm for this project.

And to my father, who taught me how to make veal

paprikash, and my mother, who was never much of a cook,

but was a voracious reader and always let me read at the

dinner table, thus instilling the other passion necessary in

the writing of this book.

And of course, warmest thanks to Chris McGuire, who

selfl essly lets his life be turned upside down whenever I get

one of my bright ideas. Th ank you for doing the dishes, cook-

ing breakfast, and getting the cat off my papers while I com-

pleted the edits, Sweetie!

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Th e meals . . . were designed to prolong our time together;

the food was of course meant to nourish us, but it was also

meant to satisfy, in some deeper way, our endless hunger

for one another.

—Passion on the Vine by Sergio Esposito

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xiii053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xiii 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xiv053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xiv 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Recipesfor

Disaster

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xv053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xv 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xvi053-50936_ch00_4P.indd xvi 9/7/12 3:12 PM9/7/12 3:12 PM

Prologue

“I am an onion,” I think to myself.

It sounds like one of those bullshit acting exercises I once

paid tens of thousands of dollars to learn how to do instead

of learning how to actually act. But instead of taking me

back to a time when I was told that character could be

achieved if I just learned how to eff ectively breathe out of my

rectum, I think it again. “I am an onion.”

Maybe I should start at the beginning. In the beginning

there was no onion. In the beginning there was only the

question:

“Why am I doing this?”

Th is is what I’m thinking as I crush up fresh basil and

mint to fl avor pitchers of water for that eve ning’s dinner. I

am cooking dinner for twelve people: one person can’t eat

gluten, two people are lactose intolerant, one woman only

eats chicken and fi sh, and another I have just found out is

vegetarian, despite the fact that I served her boeuf bourgui-

gnon in my house just six months ago. Also, my throat closes

053-50936_ch01_4P.indd 1053-50936_ch01_4P.indd 1 9/7/12 3:17 PM9/7/12 3:17 PM

2 Tess Rafferty

if I have any fruit and many vegetables, but this is at least a

challenge I am used to.

“Seriously,” I ask myself, “why do I do this?”

It is not a resentful question. I am not angry at a lack of

appreciation I have projected onto guests who haven’t even

arrived yet, nor do I feel stressed out and rushed. I am nei-

ther of those things as I have learned through endless trials

and miserable errors the secrets to serving a hot meal while

making sure that things don’t get so stressful that I melt

down. At least I think I have. As the night will prove, some-

times no matter how calm you remain, twelve iPhones in a

room will interfere with your boyfriend’s wireless sound

system and somehow your night will end with a fi ght and

tears at two in the morning.

But I am getting ahead of myself. At this moment in time

I do not know that I will be sleeping in the spare room to-

night and I have allowed the entire day to prepare for this

dinner party. Which again makes me ask, “Why? Why does

it seem perfectly reasonable to me to spend an entire day

two weeks before Christmas working on a dinner that is not

even the last one I will be cooking this season? Why am I

fl avoring water, when most people don’t even care about the

wine we’re drinking?”

Th e question is detached from all emotion. I am generally

curious about what makes me do this, like I am my own sci-

ence experiment. And the only answer I can come up with is,

“I guess I must like it.”

When I think back on it, I have wanted to throw dinner

parties since I was in high school. Th e night the fall play

opened ju nior year, I thought it would be fun to have a select

group of the cast over for dinner before our call time. We


Recipes for Disaster 3

made fettuccine Alfredo because My On- Again Off - Again

Boyfriend (aka Future Gay Best Friend) said he wanted to

eat pasta to give him more energy during the show, like it

was a marathon and not You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Looking back, it seems really odd that my instinct as a re-

bellious Goth teen was to suddenly get all Martha Stewart

rather than go drink in a parking lot somewhere; however,

it’s prescient of a comment Th e Boyfriend made just a few

years ago, “You’d rather throw a dinner party than work on

your career.”

Th at is not true— entirely. I think I throw dinner parties

so that I can work on my career without putting a gun in my

mouth. I’d much rather put fresh pasta and a Brunello in

there. (Hmmm . . . I’m getting notes of gunpowder and des-

peration.) More importantly, cooking a meal and entertain-

ing is a project that has a physical outcome that you can see

and taste and touch. Working on your career is a project

that has no beginning, middle, or end and, often, no out-

come. But setting a table is a creative endeavor that has to live

up to no one’s expectations but my own. I don’t get “notes” on

where I placed the silverware or told that my fl ower arrange-

ment appeals to the wrong demographic. Preparing food is a

meditation. And I get to make something delicious the way I

want to make it, and as long as I follow some simple steps it

will all turn out perfectly.

OK, sometimes the food sucks. Sometimes no matter

how many times you’ve made it before, some weird atmo-

spheric condition occurs or maybe you just weren’t paying

attention to how much salt you used and the whole thing

blows up in your face and you have to serve someone beef

that never tenderized or maybe a runny polenta. And it’s the


4 Tess Rafferty

worst kind of rejection because every other kind of rejection

is subjective; just because someone didn’t like your screen-

play doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. But when you don’t like

your own food, there’s no shrugging it off with “that person’s

a hack who hasn’t produced a hit ever.” I am not a hack and

as far as dinner has gone, I’ve produced many hits.

And what’s worse— you have to still eat it.

Cookbooks should have a whole chapter on dealing with

disappointment. Or they should be written by actors and

writers because we deal with disappointment every day.

And as much as feeling disappointment pains you, it’s prob-

ably the fl ip side of what allows you to enjoy your creation so

much. Cooks who don’t feel disappointment probably don’t

realize when their food is bad so they probably don’t feel ex-

hilarated when it’s good, either.

So maybe the question isn’t, “Why do I do this?” but “Why

do I like it?” Why do I love something that is so much work,

that doesn’t make me money, but rather often costs me hun-

dreds of dollars in things like truffl e honey and Le Creuset

pots, and that can often end in disappointment? Food is

about celebrating the present. When you’re eating good food,

you’re totally in the moment, experiencing all the fl avors of

both the food and the company in front of you. When you

use your good dishes and set a gorgeous table, you’re really

saying, “Th is moment is going to be beautiful because it’s the

only one there is.” I am not going to focus on the fact that the

fl owers will die tomorrow or tell myself the china is only for

special occasions, because today is a special occasion and we

never know when we might go the way of the fl owers.

Recently, I was cutting an onion and I noticed that the

grain of the onion— the lines that run from stem to stem—


Recipes for Disaster 5

went sideways. On one side it started straight, but then it

started listing to one side, like some graph of a complicated

calculus problem that I never could grasp, but decided it

didn’t matter because I was going to be an actress anyway. I

couldn’t stop staring at the imperfection; it looked so cool.

It was so unusual. And that’s when I realized nature wasn’t

perfect, either. Here I was trying to cook the perfect dinner,

when even my ingredients weren’t perfect. Th ey were inter-

esting, to be sure, and diff erent, but not perfect. And yet,

that onion wasn’t beating itself up and feeling like a failure.

It was still an onion.

My dinners aren’t perfect. But they are interesting and

unusual and diff erent. And through it all I may have fi nally

learned to be happy when my grain grows in another direc-

tion. I am still an onion.
