When it comes to dinner parties, I tend to overdo it. A week before the event, my list includes plans to bake my own bread, churn my own butter, and kill my own chicken (I exaggerate, but you get my point). In my defense, it’s the cooking part that I love best. To me, nothing is better than getting ready for a big meal. I love planning what I’m going to make and then working to make sure that each aspect is perfect. From the obsessively rolled sushi upon everyone’s arrival to the painstakingly baked tuile bowls that will cradle a scoop of homemade ice cream for dessert, I want to make sure that everything is exceptional. Unfortunately this slightly delusional behavior means that when the doorbell announces the arrival of my first guests, I often find myself stifling a yawn as I battle the urge to crawl in bed with a good book.
