So, you want to start a cookbook club?
The ins and outs of hosting a potluck-style dinner, procuring the right book, and curating a cohesive meal.
For five consecutive months, I’ve hosted a cookbook club out of my apartment, with last week’s iteration being a 6-person group all preparing recipes from Melissa Clark’s “Dinner in French.” I’ve been meaning to share my musings on these gatherings, and something particular about the nature of last week’s cookbook club prompted me to start typing. We typically gather at 7 pm, but things were running behind this go-around because, in all honesty, I was less prepared than usual. The linens were still in the dryer, my pasta sauce had taken a backseat to clean the apartment, and I forgot to start boiling my water ahead of time, so needless to say, chaos quickly ensued. It felt like the beginning of an Iron Chef challenge, where the judge shouts “Allez cuisine!” The nature of a variety of these dishes (I’ll get to the menu, shortly) did not lend to “reheat and serve.” Several recipes required last-minute finishes and immediate consumption, so when the clock struck 7, our apartment kitchen quickly turned into an episode of The Bear. “Behind!” “Sharp!” With four burners going at once, five people squeezed into a 5-foot-wide space, and the broiler turning our apartment into a furnace, it was a delicate balance of politely offering people wine while internally panicking when my anchovy mince started burning on the stove.
For whatever reason, it was my favorite cookbook club yet. There was something exciting about it coming together in front of everyone, butter dotting the stove's backsplash, one friend spooning soup into ramekins, the other folding napkins and touching up the tablescape. By the time we hit “pencils down,” I was starving. The menu presented as follows: lavender lemonade (spiked with Tito’s, of course), individual ramekins of french onion soup, poached scallops with parsley and lemon, caesar salad au frisée, spaghetti with anchovies, tomatoes, and parsley, and a lemon tart with whipped cream and fleur de sel.
I will admit, that I am a Francophile at heart. In the front jacket of “Dinner in French,” Melissa Clark writes, “I can’t really speak French, but I cook in French.” Something in me resonates with her sentiment. From hearing stories of my mom’s youthful adventures living and cooking in Paris to learning French for 4 years in high school, I’ve taken a liking to the culture, and subsequently, the food. This was one of the better dinners we’ve had in this cookbook club, mainly due to the near-perfect cohesion of the meal that this cookbook granted us. All the elements were present: a beverage, starter, salad, protein, grain, and dessert. The flavors married well together, a prime example being the anchovies in the pasta beautifully complementing the parsley butter basting the scallops. I was wholly satisfied, and all of this paired with some delicious wine made it that much better.
If this sounds overwhelming and unattainable, I can assure you, it’s not. The nature of the gathering being a potluck alone, creates a near-perfect equality. Unlike a dinner party, the host is not performing a much heavier lift than everyone else (aside from preparing the physical space), as they are also only responsible for their one dish. There are certainly a few tips that will make your life easier as you navigate being the host, so enjoy a brief outline of things I’ve learned thus far.
Develop a process beforehand for recipe selection and menu curation.
Having a foolproof method of choosing a cookbook and delegating recipe selection is crucial to ensuring the cookbook club goes smoothly. I initiated the cookbook club through a Partiful invite (the modern Evite), included the selected cookbook for the month, and outlined the table of contents/categories. I ask attendees to share their desired category on the thread (most cookbooks are broken out this way, i.e., starters, vegetables, meats, desserts), send their recipe options, and subsequently, their recipe once they’ve decided. I ask attendees to comment their final decision, so that when other attendees go to select their recipes, we avoid duplicates.
On choosing the cookbook: for our first-ever meeting, I selected a cookbook I thought was user-friendly. Clear recipes that were easy to follow, with a plethora of dish options to choose from (it happened to be Eating out Loud by Eden Grinshpan). In terms of selecting the books after that, I like to maintain the tradition of sitting in the living room after our meal, usually over a final glass of wine, to skim through all the books and collectively pick one. If you don’t own many cookbooks, I think it’s a nice idea to prompt your guests to also show up with a cookbook that they’ve been meaning to cook from. It’s a fun way for everyone to feel involved and create discourse around chefs and authors that people admire.
Pick a main (or a lane, I should say).
With food-involved gatherings, I always get this overwhelming impulse that I should be doing the most. I often feel the need to prepare two dishes, to ensure there’s enough food (even though there are always heaps of leftovers). On occasions, I’ve also gone out of my way to prepare multiple dishes or even accouterments that weren’t explicitly included in the book, which end up throwing off the cohesion of the meal (I’m alluding to a recent endeavor in which I baked some focaccia to pair with my appetizer, and ended up underbaking it). With all of this said: as the host, it’s easier to pick a main, and pick a lane. First, offering to prepare a main course (or partnering with someone else to do so) rounds out the meal, and alleviates others from feeling the need to go all-in on a bigger endeavor (you must remember, they are traveling with their dishes to your house). It also allows guests to experiment and choose a dish they feel drawn towards. Second, doing too much causes unnecessary stress before, during, and after the dinner. There’s no point in trying to prep three different things, while you could just be working on one, solid dish.
Prep anything and everything that you can, ahead of time.
As alluded to in my opening anecdote, hosting can get chaotic. I recommend preparing everything that you can ahead of time, as to alleviate any stress in the hours before guests arrive. This includes printing menus the day of, acquiring and arranging your centerpiece or flowers beforehand, setting your table as if your guests might arrive any minute, and of course, preparing any component of your recipe that allows, ahead of time. If there’s a dressing for your dish, make it ahead. Need to let something proof for at least two hours? Do it that morning. Simmer for 30? Let it happen while you multitask other items, or better yet, clean as you go. If you do let your kitchen turn into an accidental episode of The Bear, just know that it will all still fall into place. At the end of the day, your guests are just happy to be a part of it.
Follow. The. Damn. Recipe.
After hosting five cookbook clubs, I cannot stress the fundamental importance of following the recipes as closely as possible. A cohesion of the meal comes into play, that is unachievable unless you use the ingredients selected, and the methods advised. The purpose of the cookbook club, at the end of the day, is to cook the book. There is a reason for every instruction, every measurement, and every footnote. The purpose is defeated, if these things are not acknowledged. Attendees can then discuss the book, their likes and dislikes, and gain a general feel for the cookbook chosen.
With this, I bid you, a happy cookbook club-ing!