Looking for a quick antipasto platter that uses a selection of fall flavors from cross-cultures? I am your woman today.  I’m serving up a bit of prosciutto direct from Parma, Italy.  What’s always nice with prosciutto? Many say melon, but it’s November for god sakes- no hostess worth her mostest would dare bust out a Chilean-grown locavore-ignorant cantaloupe this time of year! No, has to be something seasonal, complementary, well-paired but not well-played out.  Since I am also big on alliteration, I opted to pair my prosciutto with persimmon- take that my lovely Italian traditionalist amici!  Plus, the fuyu persimmons look so good right now they make me straight-woozy in the knees inamorata, so there you have it. 

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How many reinventions can the classic BLT sandwich undergo? This version, while not your typical rendition, certainly packs a punch in the department of deliciousness.  My new favorite thing is blind gelato tastings; it’s amazing the flavors people think they’re eating, and when you break down and tell them the actual taste, the look on their faces tends to be photo-worthy.   With the BLT redux I did everything I could to make it obvious what we were eating.  The hardest part was the bread.  I finally settled upon shortbread cookies cut into squares and dipped in chocolate around the edges so as to resemble crust.  The color of each flavor turned out remarkably akin to their natural-state counterparts, yes, the frozen BLT is something to behold. 

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There is a new trend sweeping the catering nation and I am all for it.  We’ve all been there; you’re at a wedding juggling a glass of wine, your overly-crammed purse (you brought the cute little one that matches your shoes, but it can’t possibly hold even half your necessary arsenal- that’s what your husband’s pockets are for!), and the ornate wedding program you’re trying desperately to hang on to though know in your heart of hearts it won’t make it past the champagne toast before it’s carelessly tossed on the buffet table so you can get out on the dance floor and bring “Sexy Back.”  Just as you’re wishing you had a third hand, a waiter comes by with a tray of salmon caviar toasts.  They look innocent enough so you somehow find a way to shift your possessions to make room for the little delicacy.  Once you’ve got it in your hand (of course you forgot to grab a napkin) what looked like one bite on the tray suddenly seems like stuffing Mount Everest inside Moby Dick.  There is no way to eat this daintily because if you bite it in half you’ll get crumbs everywhere, but if you try to shove in the whole thing you’ll be out of commission chewing down your blowfish cheeks for five minutes.  Frustrated, you pass it off to your husband and decide to seek out another drink; if you can’t eat you might as well screw up enough liquid courage to not care what you look like doing the Running Man to YMCA later, right?

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