Why Traveling With Friends is More Fun

Also, the party of the year. A surprising recipe. And a couple of spectacular menus.

If, for once in his life, Jonathan Gold had been on time, none of it would have happened.

It all began on a beautiful spring day. Nancy Silverton and I were taking our usual walk – a three mile loop through the streets of Los Angeles – when my phone rang. Normally I would have let it go, but then I saw it was José Andres calling from DC. “I have a message from Ferran,” he began. “He’s closing El Bulli at the end of the summer, and he wants you to come before it’s over.”

I turned to Nancy. “Come along?”

At this point I should probably tell you why I didn’t ask my husband to join me: a five hour meal is Michael’s idea of hell. My friends, however, are a different matter, and as word began to circulate my phone began to ring. Soon eight of us were on our way to the Costa Brava.

Except that Jonathan missed the plane. This was not a huge surprise: the late great critic had a famously flexible relationship with time. But it left us as an all-girl group, and I was about to discover how very much I liked that.

In ordinary life landing would have involved dealing with details: luggage, hotels, reservations.  I would have changed both clothes and money. But now Lissa cried, “Let’s eat!” and we headed into the early morning, suitcases in tow, to breakfast on the beach. As I sat there, bare feet in wet sand, a wave of well-being washed over me. I took another sip of rosé and felt the obligations of ordinary life go floating off.

Don’t get me wrong – I love traveling with my family. But as any mother will attest, family travel is an anxious business that is always fraught with worry. Will the hotel be nice enough, the food to everyone’s taste, the sights sufficiently interesting? Are Uncle Bob and Dad going to get along? Did you pack the right clothes, the right books, the right medicines? Is anyone going to be happy?  And why is everything all your fault?

Traveling alone, of course, is always an option. But I’ve spent years traveling for work and it’s a lonely affair. Walking solitary streets is not much fun, and a table for one, even at the world’s best restaurant, makes me yearn to be home eating hot dogs.

But here I am in Spain sharing a wine-drenched breakfast with friends. When we finally decide it’s time to check in we find that seven of us are crammed into two tiny rooms. Am I responsible for this snafu?  I can feel my shoulders stiffen as I wait for the recriminations.

“A pajama party!” says Nancy gleefully, “what a great idea!” In that instant I realize how different this trip is going to be. Snuggled into our beds we talk through the night, and it hits me that unrelated adults rarely get to share a bedroom. That’s a shame, for over the next few days, as we trade clothes, advice and snacks, I began to know these old friends in entirely new ways. Now, after years of traveling together I am privy to their secrets: Robin eschews showers in favor of baths, Nancy barely moves when she sleeps, and Laurie barely sleeps at all. These may be small things, but that kind of intimacy is what makes for true friendship.  These are, after all, the people who knew how much I would hate being alone after I lost my job. They flew across the country to help pack up my office.

It isn’t all perfect. There was, for instance, that time in Paris when, in a fit of frugality, I booked the cheapest hotel I could find.  We arrived to find the elevator broken, towels the size of wash clothes, and beds so frail mine fell apart in the night. I want crashing to the ground, waking my roommates. Michael would not have found this funny. The girls couldn’t stop laughing – but they’ve never let me book another hotel.

Then there was the trip to Japan, arranged by Lissa and her Japanese husband Hiro (who became an honorary girl and full-time translator for that trip).  Somehow we ended up eating shirako (often translated as “children of the clouds”) at every meal.  Hiro, Lissa and I were all ecstatic; the others, not so much. Cod sperm, even in Japan, is considered an acquired taste. In my family this would have spelled disaster and it would definitely have ruined the trip. With the girls it became a running joke, one that grew funnier each time those little white sacs showed up on our plates.

We tell people we travel to eat, and that is undeniably true.  Once, in Copenhagen, we managed to squeeze eight meals into 46 hours. But after all these years food has become our excuse. Now these trips are more about friendship than food; we enjoy the destination, but it’s really about the journey. 

Tokyo certainly proved that point. After yet another cod sperm lunch we went off to find our fortunes at a Buddhist temple. But I was totally unprepared for my o-mikuji. “Bad fortune!” it began, going on to chronicle all the terrible disasters headed my way. It ended on this cheerful note: “You think your friends like you, but they don’t.”

When the Japanese receive a great curse they tie it to a tree and leave it behind. I tried that, but the words stayed with me, weighing me down. Was my luck really going to be that bad? I began looking warily at my friends, wondering if they all hated me. Finally Nancy couldn’t take it anymore. “We’re going to another temple,” she announced.

I hung back, reluctant to test my luck, while the others went inside. Nancy emerged holding out a little bell on a woven ribbon.  “This,” she handed it to me, “is guaranteed to erase bad luck.”

I carry that damn bell everywhere. I don’t know about the luck part, but it’s a constant reminder of how fortunate I am to be traveling down the road with my friends.

It’s crazy early for this, but it’s starting to seem as if spring is just around the corner. Which means it’s almost rhubarb season. The first thing I’ll make is…..

Slightly Spicy Rhubarb Compote
They had glowed at me, the long, thick ruby red stalks, in the gloom of the store. I’d gathered as many as I could hold. I couldn’t help myself. I kept thinking how delicious rhubarb would be with the ham I was about to cook.

I wasn’t sorry when I got it home; just looking at that bright red heap sitting on the counter made me happy. I went to the refrigerator and peered in, wondering what kind of condiment I might make.

I had ginger. I pulled that out. Capers! They’d be a lovely counterpoint. Especially if I threw some raisins in as well. And then, I thought, some red pepper flakes, for a bit of punch.  

I began by chopping an onion fairly fine, and softening it in a bit of grapeseed oil, along with two inches of fresh ginger that I’d chopped.  When that had turned soft and fragrant, I put the mixture in a bowl and set it aside.  

I added a couple cups of brown sugar to the empty pan, along with a cup of red wine vinegar, stirred it all up, brought it to a boil and let it cook for 5 minutes or so, until it was reduced by half. Then I added a cup of golden raisins, a couple tablespoons of rinsed capers, a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes and a few healthy grinds of black pepper.  I sliced the two pounds of rhubarb into half inch crescents, tossed them into the pan, gave it all a good stir, added the onion and ginger and cooked it for about ten minutes, until it had turned into a tasty, tender deep pink compote.

Served at room temperature it was fragrant, savory, slightly sweet and slightly spicy.  It was a wonderful addition to dinner. But I've just eaten some with cold slices of ham - and it's even better. 

Full disclosure: the Goldilocks people reached out to ask if I’d like to try their cookware. I was curious; I’ve read that they’re a great deal and I wanted to see if it’s true.

Bottom line: yes! This 5-piece Goldilocks Cookware set costs $175, and it is impressive. When I cooked dinner last night I paired each pot and pan with a similar one that cost at least twice the price (and often much more), and they all performed beautifully.

If you’re like me, the last thing you need is a new set of cookware. But if you know someone who’s just setting up house (or even planning to airbnb a place for a while), this would make a spectacular gift.

Have you ever had enough caviar?

I hadn’t. At least until last Thursday when I was lucky enough to be at the twentieth anniversary party at Per Se. Standing in front of that spectacular view was a cart laden with gorgeous heaps of caviar. Kilos of the stuff. Each time a giant tin grew empty, another instantly took its place.

Thomas Keller and Laura Cunningham certainly know how to throw a party.

There were truffles too - mountains of them - waiting to be shaved over the pasta of your choice. Oysters galore. Cheeses. Charcuterie. Pastries. The entire food world showed up to drink and talk and generally have way too much fun.

Here’s the restaurant’s description of the evening: Guests enjoyed passed canapes and food stations throughout the salon, main dining room and the legendary kitchen. Casa Dragones Tequila, wine by Modicum and La Grande Dame by Veuve Clicquot were poured throughout the evening while guests admired the signature striking views of Columbus Circle and Central Park. Bites consisted of signature offerings including Cornet of Marinated Atlantic Salmon with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche, Preserved Black Winter Truffle "Gougère," "Bacon & Eggs" with Hobb Shore's Bacon and Soft-Poached Quail Egg, Miyazaki Wagyu "Corn Dog" with Dijon Mustard and more. In the salon, guests were offered a Red Snapper "Ceviche" & Truffle Popcorn station, while the Main Dining Room included a Caviar & Raw Bar Station. The kitchen stations served Miyazaki Wagyu "Wellington" & Green-Walk Hatchery Rainbow Trout, and the West Room held a Black Truffle station, cheese, charcuterie and desserts.  

My favorite moment? Sitting on the edge of the fireplace chatting with Andre Soltner. At 92, he still has that radiant smile and endless charm.

If you want to know why I was invited to the party, it’s probably because I wrote this article on The French Laundry in 1997. Interesting to note that I say how much Thomas Keller loves soup, because when I returned on Friday for a spectacular sit-down dinner, I was once again blown away by the soups.

And, of course, by everything else.

These are the menus.