The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [123]
The section of the park was called the Rose Garden, named so long ago, because there were no longer any rosebushes. Yet looking at old photos online, I saw that the Rose Garden had been lined with rose trellises in the 1800s, when the park was built, and had looked to be a very elegant knoll. The space was vaguely separated into three conjoined lawns, the middle one with the fountain in its center; the lower one, where Frisbee was being played, rested alongside a thick brush of forest; and the one opposite had just the faintest fringe of tall trees surrounding it, so that our picnic food could be set in the half shade. Matt and I had come across the location on my second foraging walk of Prospect Park with Steve Brill, earlier that spring. I found the setting oddly private, for Brooklyn at least. It was just obscure enough—to get there, one had to follow a small, shady trail—that not too many people seemed to know of it. Back in the spring on the foraging tour, the fountains had been sucked dry to circular ditches of concrete, and one’s voice echoed when one was standing in the middle of it. I thought the Rose Garden would be a perfect place to hold an early summer picnic, so I invited a horde of friends by e-mail and wisely chose a warm Saturday, and my dream was realized.
I asked each picnic guest to bring a potluck dish and decided that chicken salad would be the theme. Why chicken salad? Erin and I were sipping wine one night, and for some reason she began to talk about how wonderful it would be to eat cold chicken in a park. Inspired, I encouraged people to bring their own unique takes on chicken salad in my invitation, and I’d provide the bread. I also asked that no one bring disposable plates or cutlery, just a serving spoon for their salad. One of the reasons I thought sandwiches were the ideal picnic food was because they could be eaten by hand, so no wasteful paper plates or forks would be needed.
Adam brought a tremendous chicken salad with portobellos and roasted red peppers. Scott brought one with smoked paprika and radishes. Pauline brought one with walnuts and grapes. David and Shana brought a seitan vegetarian “chicken” salad with fresh dill. I brought one with nectarines and basil, and another one laced with Scotch bonnets and Caribbean jerk seasonings, plus some loaves of no-knead bread. Karol made deviled eggs, someone else made brownies, and Jordan and Ben brought peaches and nectarines. The Greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza, at the tip of the park, was open that day, and some people came toting fresh fruit and vegetables directly from there. Zoya brought a bag of fresh sugar snap peas, and we invented a delightful appetizer by removing the peas and filling the empty, crisp green pods with chicken salad. Konrad arrived victoriously toting a heavy cooler filled with fresh limeade, a bag of ice, and a bottle of Cachaça rum for making the Brazilian cocktail caipirinhas. Aaron brought a Frisbee. Nick brought juggling pins and was teaching others to use them; someone had brought a harmonica and was buzzing away on it. Trevor brought a picnic suitcase, filled with essentials like plates, flatware, and napkins.
This day should never end, I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and soaked in the sun through my thin cotton dress. True, I felt like a full tank by then because I had eaten so much. But who cared? Not I.
Have I mentioned that summer is the best time of the year for not eating out? And it wasn’t just because of “parknics.” Cooking and eating together with friends and family may have relatively peaceful moments, like these. But more often than not, they’re filled with frenzy. Looking back on all the barbecues, Thanksgivings, Friendsgivings, supper-club dinners, and other communal cooking events brings back memories