This wasn't simply a dinner. From my perspective, it was an event that spread itself over months. (Sure, for everyone else, it was just a six-hour dinner.)
The Fountain Prairie Inn.
I started the planning for the dinner all the way back in June, when the Priskes mentioned the possibility of renting out the entire house. We'd recently been there for the Underground Food Collective dinner, and it seemed like a good idea. Since we wanted to reserve the whole house for a night, and dozens of individual summer schedules were impossible to work around, we settled on late September.
The planning began as a simple chalkboard list, a series of rough courses like "soup" and "dessert" that more or less covered the breadth of what I felt confident preparing. Though it evolved through the various iterations of the menu, the types of courses stayed fairly constant from start to finish. Taking some guesses at what might be in season come September, I put together a preliminary menu. Throughout the summer, Sharon helped as my taster as I tested most of the courses. (A few bits slipped through the cracks, so I had to rely on intuition.)
I designed the menu to minimize the amount of work I'd have to do on the day of the dinner. Since I fully intended to do all of the cooking myself - and got 99% of the way there1 - I didn't want to be overwhelmed when it came to dinnertime. Even the day before was busier than the day of. Several courses were served cold or at room temperature, and very little had to prepared from scratch that day. If I do this sort of thing again2, I'd come at it from the very same angle. Pickles and terrines are not only delicious and impressive, but must be made ahead of time.
Scottish Highland cattle on pasture.
I took the day off of work on the Friday before, and spent all day in the kitchen. Except for when I went out to get some takeout for dinner, since I was so busy cooking for Saturday that we had nothing to eat.3 After a short night, I got up before sunrise to be at the Dane County Farmers' Market by 7am, then to the Westside Community Market, to pick up the last of the necessary ingredients. Sharon helped me pack several boxes full of kitchen equipment and the coolers full of ice and food, and we were off to the farm to get started.
I knew I'd done well in planning when I didn't feel rushed when we arrived at the farm. We ferried the contents of the car into the house (being careful to deposit Ace, the Priskes' friendly and excitable dog, outside) and unpacked. I made a pot of chicken noodle soup with some extra vegetables and the leftover pasta from the day before so Sharon and I could have some lunch, and got down to business. I didn't feel at all pressured until dinnertime arrived.
The restored tallgrass prairie and wetlands.
Dinner was scheduled for 6pm, and I came pretty close. John was still out on his "morning chores", so I didn't feel too bad. Everyone sat down and I passed out menus, and we started. For each course, I had two people help me serve dishes after I'd finished plating them. There were fourteen of us, altogether, and plenty of helpers. Eventually, as I started running behind on clean dishes, there were more dishwashing volunteers than the kitchen could accommodate.
Each course followed more or less the same pattern: I finished cooking (if necessary) and arranged all fourteen plates on the kitchen island; I brought two plates out to the dining room, announcing that everything was ready, and two volunteers leapt up to help serve; I poured the next course of beer or wine, if there was one; when we were all set, I explained what we were eating and drinking; and we all sat down to enjoy. There were usually a couple of questions as we got started, like "And what's this ingredient?" or "How did you make this?" When I finished up, I ducked back into the kitchen to start on the next course, while everyone else played musical chairs, poured themselves some more to drink, and kept up a good level of conversation.
By the time I started to get overwhelmed with both cooking and dishwashing, Sharon and the others were popping into the kitchen, and I'm very thankful for the help. (At least no one was there when I spilled boiling-hot tomatillo-poblano sauce all over my shirt.) All in all, it took nearly six hours to get from the appetizers to the chocolate. I'd tried hard to get the portion sizes right,4 and wanted everyone to be able to enjoy every course. Though appetites waned a bit by desserts and chocolate, small portions and plenty of time for digestion got us through.
It also kept people from getting absurdly drunk, which was a little surprising given the vast quantities of alcohol we all put away. (Not that anyone had to make it any further than upstairs after the meal.)
By midnight, as we all ate chocolates, I was kaput. We all sat around the table, and everyone talked about their favorite aspect of the meal.5 What pleased me the most was the full range of opinions. Sure, there were a few things that several folks mentioned over and over, but the breadth of compliments made me feel great. I think I managed to please everyone, and there wasn't much on the menu that didn't get approval after the fact. If everyone had picked the same course as a favorite, I might have been disappointed, but there was a wealth of varying opinions to suggest that the entire endeavor was a real success.
Sharon, Emily and I'm not sure who else managed to scrub the dishes while I slumped in a chair for hours, leaving a clean kitchen for breakfast. By 2am, with a clean kitchen, we searched for light switches as we stumbled off to bed. I sure appreciated it.
One of the youngest members of the herd.
It's amazing how, after a 21-hour day, my body still insists on being fully awake by 7am. I made my way down to the kitchen, where the early risers had gathered around the coffee machine. When we started to clog the kitchen, we moseyed on out to the living room to kill time until breakfast.
Which was excellent, by the way. Oatmeal pancakes with maple syrup and sour cream. Crispy bacon. Cranberry applesauce. A wonderfully delicate and light coffee cake. Coffee, tea, orange juice and apple cider.
Most of us had some time to spare, so John took us on a tour of the farm, past the barn, through the pasture and the restored tallgrass prairie. It was genuinely fascinating, and the weather - which had been threatening rain just the day before - couldn't have been finer. A few of the highlights included:
- Loverboy, the three-year old bull, eyeing us through the fence. He's a large, heavily muscled animal, impressive even to those of us who don't know squat about raising cattle. Beside him are the adorable little adolescent bulls, kept separated from the rest of the herd because they're about as trustworthy around girls as any adolescent boys of any species.
- Sitting in the middle of the herd, keeping still, is something most of us rarely get to do. Highland cattle are lovely animals, and the calves - like all young mammals - are adorable. Who wouldn't want to take one home? Even the full-grown cows look like giant, rust-colored English sheepdogs. With horns.
- Fountain Prairie Farm isn't just a cattle operation. A large portion of the farm is actually restored tallgrass prairie and wetlands, which provides a haven for all sorts of birds and other wildlife that had been driven away by industrial agriculture. The Priskes have brought back dozens of species of native grasses and other plants, and recreated the original wetlands that once supported the flocks of migrant waterfowl that are now returning. It's a beautiful landscape, one that had been all around here not all that long ago.
- The Priskes genuinely care about their impact on the environment around them, about the life they give the animals on their farm. If that seems pretty clear from talking to them at the farmers' market, just wait until John's telling you about his life's work in the middle of a field - and how he hopes he can ensure it will continue well beyond him.
Note: The pictures here were taken by Emily English during our farm tour. She's posted the rest of her photos on Shutterfly.
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Related posts:
Summary.
The Menu.
As Local As Possible.
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1Sharon helped fill ravioli when I was running behind, and gave me a hand with some other little odds and ends in the process. Thank you!
2Only less complicated. Full-time job, plus travel to and from Chicago, then this? No thanks. I'd like to get some sleep at some point.
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