The First Annual White Truffle Dinner

Hosted by the lady in black

Living the expat life on and off for the past seven years, I am now Stateside at Thanksgiving for only the third time since 2002. Perhaps that’s why I’m finding myself especially mindful of the true meaning of the holiday. Today, I’m giving thanks for my good friends and neighbors, Renee, Laura and Jeff.

Renee lives the life of the princess that she truly is. Last night she made the three of us feel like royalty by hosting what I hope is the first of many White Truffle Dinners. After a whirlwind week sampling truffle dishes all over Manhattan (and that’s hard work!), Renee returned home carrying a haul of the rare fungus back to Kansas City to share with the lucky few.

Renee wears more black than Johnny Cash himself, and her gorgeous new black suede thigh high Butter boots (no kidding!) were the perfect way to kick off our ridiculously decadent meal. We popped a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin to accompany mushrooms stuffed with leeks and mascarpone, and then liberally doused with truffle oil. Renee is all about presentation, and the mushrooms were regally lined up on a beautiful black serving tray that had been warmed so that when she poured the truffle oil over the stuffed caps, the oil hit the heat of the tray and the warm earthy smell filled the room. The crisp bubbles were the perfect pairing.

We moved from the black granite island in her kitchen to her table, elegantly decorated with small vases filled with parsley (her signature table decoration: fresh herbs) and white tulips, for our first course. Jeff contributed the wine and even though he’s an ABC (anything but Chardonnay) man, he knew Cakebread Chardonnay would be the way to go. How can you ever go wrong with Cakebread?! The richness of the oaky wine stood up to the butter and garlic in our individual shrimp scampi, presented uniquely in actual scallop shells. The Cakebread also managed to handle the notoriously difficult task of pairing wine with an artichoke crostini that Renee covered with another liberal drizzle of truffle oil and placed alongside the scampi. Can you say R-I-C-H? The entire course was lush as velvet. By this time I was beginning to feel like a princess myself.

Moving on to the main course, Jeff produced a wonderful French red, Domaine Du Mas Blanc Collioure. Again, a perfect match with the truffle butter tagliatelle Renee swirled with cream. As if we hadn’t already been spoiled enough, she shaved probably $50 worth of the white gold over each of our bowls. I ate every bite.

Laura brought dessert, and knowing Renee only eats homemade ice cream, she presented a handsome hand crafted pear tart in place of her usual sweet - Christopher Elbow artesian ice cream. Just as well as my lactose intolerant stomach was already on the edge. Renee just couldn’t help herself however, and added a dollop of whipped cream to each slice.

It was a meal worthy of any New York restaurant, presented with the care of someone who truly loves sharing her joy of cooking. How lucky are we? And if that all weren’t enough, Renee sent the two remaining truffles home with me in a jar, perched on a bed of rice.

Whether or not the 2nd Annual White Truffle Dinner ever takes place, I’ll remain grateful for the friendship of these three generous people. Now, today – SALAD for lunch!

My Last First Friday at Lidia’s

They got it all wrong but then did everything right.

Going out to dinner on a First Friday in the Crossroads district of downtown Kansas City is sort of like going out to dinner on Valentine’s Day. You just should know better. Case in point - November 4.

I had enjoyed an evening full of wonderful things: Moet with my pals Jennie and Laura, high art in galleries, street performances, startlingly intelligent conversation and the crisp November air. It was time for some dinner.

Seems I often find myself wandering First Fridays with these gals and wisely, we frequently head down the Boulevard to TM#1 (that’s Taqueria Mexico Numero Uno- duh) to escape the crowds. Well, we go there a lot and I had already been in the chips and guacamole that day so I suggested something different. Lidia’s sounded good. We could get our carbs in bread and pasta form instead of more tortilla chips.

8PM: The dining room was full as we expected it to be, but we quickly snagged some bar stools across from the big crackling fireplace. Nice and cozy. Forty-five minutes wouldn’t be so bad a wait when you’ve got good friends, good wine, briny olives and a Nancy Bounds sighting to keep you entertained.

9PM: I was voted to approach the hostess. “Um, we couldn’t find you when your table came up.” Really? We were sitting opposite the hostess stand the entire time. Like Jennie said, it’s not like we all three hid in the ladies room, sat on the toilets and lifted our feet up off the floor!” Someone, who appeared to be the dining room manager, overheard my patient yet firm protestation. “We’ll seat you immediately– I’m very sorry.” Ok. I’ll accept that. Goof number #1, recovery well done.

Seated in the middle of the bustling dining room we continued our brilliant conversation, ordered more wine, and our server Peter introduced himself to us by announcing the appetizers were on the house. Excellent. Things had improved.

We tucked into the Caesar salad Laura and I ordered to share (I think possibly the best Caesar in town) and an additional complimentary arugula salad arrived for our vegan friend Jennie. Tasty salads. Plates were cleared. The couple to my left paid their bill and left. Another couple arrived. The table over my right shoulder turned and piles of hot pasta were scooped onto the plates of the new diners. A big plate of lasagna went to our new neighbors to my left. We waited. No sign of Peter.

9:45PM: Peter appears. “Would you like more drinks?” “WHERE’S OUR FOOD?!” Wow Jennie. Good for you. “I’m so sorry, it’s being plated.” Really? Jennie and Laura both ordered pasta that would be served tableside and I ordered a bowl of mussels. I guess that’s what Peter meant, the plating of the mussels. ??

10:00PM: Once again, I’m nominated. I flag Peter down. More sincere apologies and a frustrated “First Friday always ends like this….” muttered somewhat under his breath. By now we were seriously tempted to just ditch it. We’d had our fill of bread, salads and wine. Laura was eyeing the door when the hot pasta finally arrived, Jennie’s vegan penne first, than Laura’s trio. I continued to wait for my mussels. I guess they were still being plated. I hear it’s a very tricky presentation throwing that garlic toast on top.

Finally, the mussels show up swimming in what was a very tasty, garlicky, tomato wine sauce. It seems the vegan always gets screwed though and Jennie’s pasta was so al dente it was like chewing a pig’s ear. Or so we guessed. Laura’s butternut squash ravioli was ridiculously decadent and absolutely delicious. Her veggie penne was also crunchy but she swears the Bolognese (which she kept trying to get me to taste – Vixen!) was la piece de la resistance. My mussels were just ok once you got past the sauce. The first one I scooped out was like sushi (mussel sushi?) and I had to spit it into my napkin rather ungraciously, but the others were thoroughly cooked.

Mr. Restaurant Manager returned and acknowledged that things just didn’t seem to be going our way. He offered to buy dessert - we politely declined. Hell, we’d been there nearly three hours already! We were nice and polite and accepted his and Peter’s continuous apologies without whining. We weren’t too impressed but we were enjoying the company.

This just should not happen in a seasoned kitchen run by Dan Swinney and Cody Hogan. First Friday comes around every month. Staff up gentlemen. Who was running the show back there anyway? I’m willing to overlook the hostess gaff but the performance of the kitchen was pretty lame. We didn’t order a whole hog.

But once again, someone stepped up. Our check arrived and we were charged only for our booze. I’ve always found the servers at Lidia’s to be extremely professional, and in this case Peter and Mr. Manager really took care of us…which is why I’ll go back again. But maybe not on a First Friday.