Superbowl Sunday 2006

"Let’s keep the party down to about 20 people. Any more than that is just unmanageable."

Clearly Dan had forgotten how many people he’d already invited. My confirmed head count, quietly kept in a spreadsheet on my laptop, was already 51. I shrugged. "Sure," I agreed. "Whatever you say, honey."

The winery is closed on Superbowl Sunday, because it is a major national holiday. Our house is a 1921 farmhouse with teensy rooms and doorknobs that tend to fall off when you’re trying to greet someone and let them in. But the house also has windows and doors all the way around, incredible views from our little hilltop, a more-or-less open floor plan, a spacious sunporch, and a creaky, bouncy wooden floor. And cheap, battered furniture that I like to think of as Broke, Period.

The party, as clearly as I can recall, was about 62 adults, 14 kids, and three dogs.

And a live band. That we didn’t know was coming.

This year we skipped the grilled oysters with grilled pepper salsa, because I only want oysters from Giovanni’s and I didn’t have time to drive to Morro Bay. We prepared a 10-pound beef tenderloin on our small electric rotisserie for tenderloin sandwiches, served with mayo, sundried tomato ketchup, homemade Viognier-French tarragon mustard, and of course, a beef au jus spiked with garlic and strips of jalapeno. I also make a hearty salad of kidney beans, black beans, corn nibs, cilantro, and sliced carrots, dressed lightly with Pasolivo orange-olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Steve Cunningham brought an herb-marinated side of salmon, served on sesame crackers with a dill cream sauce. Tim Haueter brought four whole chickens with garlic and peppers stuffed under the skins. Dan and Karen McCraw brought a French white bean salad topped with chanterelles from the Saturday farmers’ market. They also brought a large bowl of their salt-cured olives—meaty and firm with just a slight brine flavor, and dressed with anchovies. And there was the usual assortment of antipasto platters, fine cheeses, chips, dips, guacamoles, sausages, ribs, pies, brownies, and cookies.

The weather was beautiful—a little breezy and cool, but sunny. We set up our croquet area on the only flat piece of lawn—it’s also referred to as cocktail croquet, because we play while holding a drink, or cutthroat croquet because we like to smack our opponent’s balls downhill into the orchard, which means it can take all day to finish a game. A picnic table and benches outside for the kids. A barbecue station loaded with cutting boards, tongs, serving trays, and a bad ass knife. A chips-n-dips table in the living room, a beer station in the sunporch, fine cheeses and antipasto on the butcher block counter next to the wines, and we’re good to go.

Eric Jensen brought a bocce ball set as well, and a live band. He called Friday night to let us know that Justin Smith's cellarman is lead singer for a rock-and-blues band and they had a gig in San Miguel that evening, so he hired the band to play before the game and during halftime. It was an exciting addition to the day, and they were really good. We hired them again for next year.

During the first half of the game, I swabbed French rolls with heavily garlicked butter and broiled them for the tenderloin sandwiches. When the first batch was done, I dumped them in a large, cloth-lined basket and turned back to the oven. When I turned around with the second batch just two minutes later, the entire basket was empty. Apparently everyone thought they were really yummy garlic toasts. I didn’t even know that many people could walk through the kitchen in two minutes. Good thing I’d purchased 80 rolls. We served the tenderloin at halftime, and it disappeared as fast as it was carved. Just like that.

It was a great day with great people. I’m already looking forward to next year. Dan and I are already thinking ahead . . . "two tenderloins next year," "get it all out early," "do the oysters for sure," and "two betting pool boards—the squares went too fast."

We hid the 2003 Saxum Bone Rock Syrah that Justin Smith brought behind some stuff on the kitchen counter so I could have a taste later. No luck. The Bone was unearthed and every drop drained dry before I found it again.

Richard Sauret, right, was a big hit with dads, kids, and dogs.

Roxie Rose clung tightly to daddy Matt Trevisan in spite of bribes.

The band set up under the windmill, completely unfazed by the croquet game (you can see a wicket in the foreground) and the bocce game to their right, although they were startled when a football bounced off their speaker. But as Dan's shorts had fallen around his ankles when he went out for the pass, no one really noticed.

I finally found the Bone Rock (left). Right there in the Sierra Nevadas.

Hey, at least somebody was watching the game.

Comments

[jens at cincinnati wine warehouse]

Can I come next year? I promise not to cheer too loudly for any AFC team! And I will bring my own wine!

[Mary Baker]

Sure! I would love to have you come, Jens!
Be forewarned, I solicit any able-bodied man wandering through the kitchen. This year a computer programmer found a girly apron wrapped around his chest, a knife in his hand, and a board of bleeding cow in front of him.

[weekendwino]

Wow!! You guys know how to throw a party!!