Surf and Turf

A group of friends and I were thinking lately of doing a surf and turf night. Sounds simple enough - but we want to re-create something very special.

Rewind a few years. Hubby and I had bought a couple of steaks for dinner, when we got a call from Thanh and Jenn (then childless and prone to spontaneity).  "Lobsters on sale at TNT! Let's do this." "This" being, show us how to cook lobster fo' real. My friend Gilda's dad had just extolled the virtues of Maggie sauce, and Thanh had scoffed.

The issue was, we had just bought these lovely hunks of marbled, grass-fed protein, and there was no other opportunity to cook them in the coming days. So we pulled a Jesus-with-the-loaves-and-two-fish, and decided to pool and share by cutting the steaks in half. We also threw in some wedding-at-Cana action (hope I'm not going to hell for these references) and popped open a Watson.  That's a gorgeous, buttery Chardonnay from my favourite winery in the world, Closson Chase, in that little slice of heaven called Prince Edward County. The tragedy is that we don't often eat foods that pair well with this big, butterscotch majesty - but this proved to be the perfect occasion. Yes, our guests also brought a big bad red, for the meat course. And Thanh got down to business with those crustaceans.

We surfed, we turfed. At the time our son was 6 months old or so; I still remember him peering out from behind his plate heaped with a giant lobster, in utter rapture. I rummaged through the gadget drawer and found a forgotten butter-warmer (ceramic dish on a tiny stand with a votive candle for heat) that my mother had picked up from a trip to the Maritimes almost a decade ago.

That night became legendary: the wine, the laughter, and oh! the food - all the elements randomly slipping and sliding into a blissfully perfect meal. I think the impromptu nature of that night was part of its success; the feeling that "we'll make do with what we have" blanketed all the proceedings in such a way that no one felt pressured to perform, but instead supported to take risks without the fear of failure. Isn't that what a good test kitchen needs? An environment where you can learn, you can create, and above all, you can have fun.

Forward to the present. A couple additions to both our families (baby girls), and though we wouldn't like to admit it, we are probably less spontaneous than in days of yore. But, whenever we get together, a gleam will get into someone's eye, they'll mention that night, and we'll all lapse into silence, licking our chops. It seems inevitable that we should do it again, right?