Kate Young - The Little Library Parties

THE LITTLE LIBRARY PARTIES

THE

LITTLE

LIBRARY

PARTIES

50 recipes to share with friends

KATE YOUNG

www.headofzeus.com

First published in 2022 by Head of Zeus Ltd,
part of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Copyright Kate Young, 2022
Photography Yuki Sugiura, 2022

The moral right of Kate Young to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The list of individual titles and respective copyrights to be found on constitutes an extension of this copyright page.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN
9781803281230 ( TPB )
9781803281223 ( E )

Photography by Yuki Sugiura

Head of Zeus Ltd
58 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.headofzeus.com

For everyone in the kitchen at parties
(and most especially for Ella)

August is quickly realizing that its only a brunch in the absolute loosest definition of the word: there is brunch food, yes, and Isaiah introduces her to a Montreal queen hot off a touring gig with a fistful of cash and a Nalgene full of mimosas. But, mostly, its a party.

One Last Stop, Casey McQuiston

Theres an episode of The Simpsons I think about a lot that perfect one where Kirk Van Houten stands pointing at a potato-shaped blob on a sheet of Pictionary paper shouting Dignity, its dignity! It starts with Marge and Homer in bed one night. Book in her lap, unsettled and rigid with anxiety, Marge asks Homer if this is how he imagined married life. He seems content, but she is questioning things she pictured cocktail parties and candlelit dinners. She pictured napkins. And so she decides to host a party.

I get it. I spent my childhood picturing napkins and dinners and parties. Before school, around the breakfast table, Id pull Mums cookbooks from the shelf, and plan imaginary menus for the dinners Id host once I was older. Perhaps something with aubergine and tahini and pomegranates from Claudia Rodens Arabesque to start, then one of Stephanie Alexanders lamb chop recipes, and Nigella Lawsons perfect clementine and almond cake to finish. Or maybe something low-key, like that peach, mint and prosciutto salad from one of Jamie Olivers books, and then an ice cream Id make myself in my shiny machine. For a fancy birthday Id serve oysters (I didnt like them yet, but was convinced it was only a matter of time), Julia Childs buf bourguignon, and some buttery French tart from the patisserie on the other side of Brisbane. People would bring wine and flowers and compliments. Id light candles. Id bring out the good linen serviettes, write place cards, and polish those crystal glasses I found in a market somewhere on holiday. I dreamed so longingly of being a grown-up that in many ways I wished away my teenage years, and the potential joys to be found therein.

Its a glorious relief that it appears I wasnt wrong to be eagerly anticipating this period of my life. Ive reached the age I sort of always was in my head, old enough to finally fit inside my own skin. After a few years spent working for people in their houses, I now have a space of my own, one I can welcome my friends into. I have nice serviettes, and some crystal glasses that once belonged to my great grandad, and some plates I found in a market somewhere on holiday. I have my own collection of cookbooks, and I sit with them when dreaming up parties and events.

When I was planning this book, I had a long conversation with my friend Berta about that point at which coming round for dinner morphs into a dinner party. Semantics matter when we talk. Berta spoke Spanish and Italian before she spoke English, and so shes not lazy or vague or euphemistic with language (unless she plans to be). She says what she means. We agreed that there is a distinction that theres something about a party that feels different. But it was hard to name, to find the shape of it. Why is it, we wondered, that the brunch in One Last Stop is a party and not a brunch, and why do we know immediately what that implies?

Like the best man with scuffed note cards giving a speech, Im afraid Im going to tell you that the Collins English Dictionary defines a party as a social event, often in someones home, at which people enjoy themselves doing things such as eating, drinking, dancing, talking, or playing games. Its so vague. Like the dictionary definition of love, or family, trying to affix a definitive label fails on so many counts. It captures nothing of the energy of a party. It does nothing to distinguish between brunch or dinner and a party nothing to highlight that magical tipping point.

In the end, Berta and I landed on washing up: at a party, the host washes up once everyone has gone home. Its not quite that simple, I suppose; sometimes at a party my friends are pushy and pick up a sponge before I can talk them out of it. But a party is an event, an evening of note, even if youre welcoming close friends. What follows here, then, are fifty recipes for parties: for parties in the garden on long summer evenings, for house parties in crowded living rooms, for cosy dinner parties, for glamorous weddings, for quaint tea parties with dainty crockery (or a collection of mismatched mugs and a plate, if thats more your speed). For occasions and events worth celebrating.

You can celebrate on your own, of course, with one other person, or with just a handful. I know this intimately: I live alone and have spent much of these far-from-roaring twenties celebrating things birthdays, publication dates, babies, friends falling in love, new jobs, promotions, Tuesdays in all sorts of assorted groups. Ive celebrated with one friend on the end of the telephone, and with groups of us outdoors on distanced picnic blankets. Im not negating those more intimate guest lists, but most of the recipes here are for a few of you, or more. There are no recipes for one, though I have eaten plenty of these dishes alone and then again the next day. Things can be scaled up, or down. But the general rule for all these dishes is that theyre designed to be shared.

In one of his Observer columns (it was 2005, to place things in context), Nigel Slater claimed that the only people hosting dinner parties anymore were gay couples and antique dealers. I would have been devastated at seventeen I didnt yet know I was gay and might be afforded a special dinner party pass. But, if Nigel Slater is as correct as he always is, then this book is for the gay couples and the antique dealers and for everyone else who loves to have friends round. I do so hope you enjoy it.

Unless otherwise stated, when testing these recipes, all eggs were large, all butter was salted, and all milk was whole.

My oven is an electric oven. Unless I note otherwise, I use it without the fan. If your oven has a fan, then you will need to drop the stated oven temperature by between 15 and 20 degrees. In general, you know your oven best; keep an eye on things as the listed cooking time comes to an end.