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First things first: I'm not a connoisseur. I'm not much of an oenophile. Most of the things I am are much easier to spell.

But I've been getting interested in wine, in my small way. I do like to have a pleasant glass with dinner. Two or three glasses, and I start to giggle. Four, and I start to show my tattoos. And I don't have any tattoos, so you can see that four is over my limit. A scant two is more likely, and not always two days in a row.

Since I'm the only wine-drinker in the house, I hate to open a good bottle and have it sit on the shelf, squinting sourly at me for the rest of the week, so I'm looking at some alternatives.

The Fella and I have been trying to socialize more, a resolution that butts up against our natural inclination to hole up alone together in our dollhouse-sized apartment and make fun of movies. The more we go out, and the more we have people over to our dollhouse-sized apartment, the more I daydream about parties I'd like to have:

- an easy brunch. Nothing too fancy, and no on-the-spot cooking: I'll bake sweet rolls and let people help themselves to homemade granola, macerated fruit, yogurt, and slices of cold frittata. Mostly, this is a chance to catch up with friends who work weekday jobs, to show off the espresso maker The Fella gave me for Christmas, to break open the "extra" bottle of champagne my mom casually palmed off on me during a recent visit. (Which tells you something about my mother: she's the kind of person who gives away champagne. Thanks, Mom!)

- a Star Wars viewing party. Okay, this one belongs to The Fella. I mentioned wanting to watch the trilogy all together some night, and he perked up. "We'll have people over!" ....yyyyyes, okay, let's! I'll bake swirly cinnamon rolls, so we can hold 'em up to our heads Leia-style. He can take charge of everything else.

- a birthday party. Can you imagine a better birthday cake than this? Pistachio cake, marzipan, apricot preserves (or maybe I'd use bitter marmalade, mmmmm), and dark chocolate ganache. Swoon. Do you suppose making actual petit fours would make it any simpler? No, perhaps not.

- a proper tea party. I want to unpack the box of porcelain teacups that Mom gave me, make some dainty little sandwiches and tiny pastries, and sit in the garden with friends, all wearing sunhats and sipping tea with our pinkies prinked out from the handle. I foresee only two possible obstacles: I have no teapot and no garden.

What party would you give? What party would you attend?

notice of time trickery: this entry was originally posted at 9:27 a.m., December 7th, and updated throughout the weekend.

Thanks to everyone who came to the sandwich party! I had a blast! And some sandwiches!

With the time-zone advantage, Simon has already leapt into the breach with his entry for the party. (Which party? Sandwich party!) Excerpt:

Step one: the ingredients. The bread has to be white, sliced, preferably cheap and twappy.

Man, it's like some internet ventriloquist's act, but without the creepy dummy*: I say "chip butty" here, and Simon makes a chip butty there. That staggers me and is awesome.

Sgazzetti follows that with the summer of BLTs:

The BLT is a model of synergy, a perfect example of 'the whole is greater than the sum of its parts'.

Whether sgazzetti knows it or not, this sandwich rings with significance for our family this time of year. Yesterday was two years to the day since our father died peacefully at home after months of home hospice care. I don't have the emotional wherewithal today to tell the story of Dad's last BLT, and how it restored the will to live, but maybe someday.

NotMyAndrea forced her sister to eat a hamandmacandcheese on wheat toast with lettuce:

It was conceived of one day when my sister was making a leftover ham sandwich and we also had some leftover baked mac and cheese and I coerced her into adding it to her sandwich to satisfy some kind of vicarious meat sandwich curiosity.

She followed that up with a classic PB&J, constructed with attention to detail:

I don't believe in skimping on the PB. A nice thick layer, and then not toooo much jam, because it will soak through your bread if said bread is correctly twappy, and you don't want any soaking to occur. Also, if you use too much jam it might blop out the bottom of the sandwich and into your lap when you take a bite.

Jagosaurus opted for tuna salad and Utz chips:

(or crisps if you're not from around here) and ginger ale. Tasty.

Hampered by a bare fridge, I played pantry roulette, ending up with an open-faced sandwich of sun-dried tomato neufchatel with onion-garlic jam, shaved parmesan, and shredded apple:

It is better than I thought, and though each component loses some individuality, they meld together surprisingly well. It's sweet and tart, silky and creamy, warm and cold, and altogether surprising.

Em K's sandwich post was so tasty, her computer ate it:

Bah. I need a drink.

Jim rings in the morning with French Toast Sandwiches with Apparently Candied Pears:

Because I hate how my heart beats so regularly, and also, how little sugar I ingest in a single sitting. Two birds, one stone, I say.

Macbebekin's own Elli flitted over to Flickr to show us a sad selection of toasties and to tell us about the bread & honey treat

just like I used to eat at my granny's when I was a little girl. Back then I would also have a Flintstone's chewable vitamin which would leave colored bits around the bite marks.

Bill D. ruminates on the grilled cheese sandwich:

In French cuisine, they have this concept of "mother sauces." These are 4 basic sauces that can be added upon and tweaked to make a practically infinite number of other sauces... the primary colors of the food world, in a way. Well, if the concept carries over to the sandwich side of things, you have to figure that the grilled cheese would be one of the mother sandwiches.

Erik brings us the savor of Spain with his bocadillo de tortilla de patata:

It's really nothing more than a typical Spanish omelet that you place between two pieces of bread, and it's an item that you'll find at almost any tapas bar in Spain.

Frédérique escaped the twin spectres of accidental death and research work long enough to make Monday Morning Brioche French Toast and Fresh Strawberries With Balsamic Marinade Sandwich. Monday morning, you say? But surely the sandwich party is a weekend affair?

I had a very busy weekend, what with narrowly escaping death-by-falling-giant-tree-branch, cycling in perpetual head winds, catching up on research and gardening hours and getting lost on my way to a friend's house, and missed the official 'Sunday night' deadline. So once more, I thank my good star for being on the other side of the date-change line and submit late, yet on time. ;)

Leslie enjoyed a Hungry Hillbilly Sub:

This is a Hungry Hillbilly. Made with care by Charley so I could take the perfect photo, this stately sandwich is comprised of turkey, ham, American cheese (of course),bacon, lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise.

Diehard sandwich partygoers that we are, Frédérique and I each took a second bash at our sandwiches! Frédérique presents a glorious dessert sandwich of meringues, sorbet, and fruit, a gorgeous pile of sweet and vibrant colors that will dazzle you.

Me, I piled together the same old same old: sun-dried tomato neufchatel, onion jam (a fresh batch, still warm!), and a slice of cheddar this time, shown here with more russet oven chips and the half-apple waiting to be sliced thin and laid atop the sandwich.

Marigoldie's site is password protected, but she's sharing a recipe with us, as well as a very astute serving suggestion.

I shredded up some Follow Your Heart fake cheddar, chopped up a huuuuge pimiento, a few tablespoons of fake mayo, some chopped green onion, a sprinkle of cayenne and that was that. I followed Jag's recipe to the T, except for using vegan alternatives. Then I grilled my sandwich on Ezekiel sprouted sunflower bread with light Earth Balance. It was goooood. I had it with some salt & pepper Kettle chips and a salad. And then I carried it over to the couch and watched the Simpsons with it.

Now I realize that I left out a perhaps crucial component of my sandwich party: my first sandwich (see above) and I sat together and watched "The Simpsons" with writers' commentary. Mmm, delicious.

Check out the comments on this very entry for gaoo's empty-fridge special: the refrito & herb quesadilla, a south-of-the border sandwich on corn tortillas:

the authentic small tough ones with limey mineral taste. We always have these because they keep in the fridge for months.

AMGS makes a sweet and simple breakfasty treat, the berry break sandie:

INGREDIENTS: a blueberry bagel and strawberry cream cheese.

Toast the blueberry bagel. Spread moderate amount of strawberry cream cheese on it. Put the pieces together and enjoy.

It's even better than it sounds. Try it!

I'll be updating this entry through the day weekend as I can, so check back to see what's for lunch, dinner, breakfast, elevenses, tea, or midnight snack.

*I'm assuming.

When our town was hit by a snowstorm and subsequent parking ban early this week, The Fella and I cheerily decided to stow the car somewhere safe and not go out anymore. Instead, we huddled down in our cozy apartment, watching movies and playing Trivial Pursuit.

Among the places we did not go: the grocery store.

Accordingly, I discarded my plan to browse delicacies and craft some luxurious entry for the sandwich party. Instead, I find myself playing one of my favorite games: pantry roulette.

I regularly play this game when I'm staying with friends, and especially when visiting my mother: I offer to make dinner out of whatever ingredients they have on hand. The barer the cupboard, the greater the challenge. I rarely get to play it in my own (usually well-stocked) larder, but by the end of this week, our supplies were running pretty low, and the challenge felt almost daunting.

Digging through the cabinets for any scrids and scrads of goodies hanging around the dark recesses of the pantry, I found a jar holding a fistful of old, scabby-looking sun-dried tomatoes. That sparked the idea:

open-faced sandwich of sun-dried tomato neufchatel with apple, onion-garlic jam, and shaved parmesan.

As the idea bloomed, I thought I could imagine the taste with some clarity. Boy, was I wrong. It is better than I thought, and though each component loses some individuality, they meld together surprisingly well. It's sweet and tart, silky and creamy, warm and cold, and altogether surprising. '

On the side (and everywhere else) you see oven-baked russet potato chips (crisps). The instant I saw the Utz chips (crisps) accompanying Jagosaurus' tuna sandwich, I knew I needed chips, but after a brief internal struggle, I simply could not face the arduous task of first finding and then donning shoes and a brassiere* so I could walk two blocks to the nearest store to buy chips.

Incidentally, that telling detail illustrates the peculiar brand of laziness that shaped this whole exercise: note that I'm too lazy to dress and walk two blocks, preferring to spend forty minutes making oven-baked potato chips.

*And other requisite garments, but it was the shoes and brassiere that proved onerous.

Are you eagerly awaiting the weekend sandwich party? Of course you are!

The sandwich party arose as a joke, but Jagosaurus and I quickly realized that here was a dining challenge to which almost everyone could rise: eat a sandwich and tell us about it.

You decide how elaborate an event this needs to be. If the fancy strikes you, bake a fine loaf of bread, whip up homemade mayonnaise, and top it all with paperthin slices of home-roasted duck. Throw a tea party and serve pressed cucumber sandwiches. Browse The Sandwich Project for ideas. Describe your brown-bag standard. Give us your killer hummus recipe and tell us what vegetables go best with it on grocery-store pita. Tell us about your stupefyingly easy and delicious pulled pork sandwiches. Swipe one of your kid's Uncrustables* and tell us how it was. We're eager to hear how each of you plays with the basic (and I do mean "basic") idea.

For those running short on time or inspiration, keep this calming thought in mind: there's no rule against ice cream sandwiches or sandwich cookies. You have time to eat a Nutter Butter, don't you?

previous sandwiches on macbebekin:
- vegan artichoke dip on sourdough with tomatoes. Don't forget the cassava chips!
- the Cézanne tartine: roasted vegetables with avocado and farmhouse cheddar on whole wheat bread, with balsamic-dressed mixed greens, cranberry, and candied walnuts.
- herbed neufchatel tartines on onion-herb bread, topped with olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and sauteed mushrooms, served with homemade cream of tomato soup and oven-fried sweet potatoes.
- grilled cheesy panini with onion jam (and without a panini machine).
- spicy Crisco spread.
- a tale of childhood gastronomy.
- a future tea party with wafer-thin tea sandwiches.
- Don't eat these sandwiches. Ugh.
- JM's witchetty grub.

* What marketing group came up with that name? Uncrustables? Really?

Inspired by an email exchange over her aunt's now-famous pim(i)ento cheese recipe, Jagosaurus and I decided to throw a sandwich party. Since she lives wherever the heck she lives and I live wherever the heck I live (wait, where am I?), we're throwing the party online, so you can come to it, too!

Really! No RSVP needed, just show up! Here's how:

Anytime on December 7th, 8th, or 9th, 2007 (that's Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of next week), you eat a sandwich and post an entry about it on your site. Tell us what kind of sandwich you've made (or ordered, sure, why not?), and something about it. Write the recipe, take some photos of the sandwich, or, hey, tell us how your grampa or your old boss or your crazy neighbor's little kid used to make this sandwich.

When your entry is posted, leave a comment for me here (seriously: here --- right here) linking back to the URL.

Over the weekend, I'll post a round-up linking to all the sandwich postings, and follow it up a day or two later, just to be sure we catch the late postings.

We can hardly wait to see what you decide to serve. Will you be tempted by Jagosaurus' pim(i)ento cheese sandwich or my grilled cheese with onion jam?

Do you like a Dagwood or a tartine? New Englanders might like to introduce our Southern friends to the Fluffernutter. I've never had a Banh Mi; maybe one of you will entice me. Reuben? Muffulletta? Chip butty? Croque Madame? Hoagie, grinder, sub, Italian, hero?

I'm guessing not all of you will succumb to the allure of the 1930 spiced Crisco and raw egg sandwich spread or JM's sandwich of brie, grub, and Tabasco seen here, but you must have a favorite sandwich, a least favorite sandwich, an everyday sandwich, a childhood memory sandwich, or a new sandwich recipe you've been keen to try. Join us next weekend, and we'll all have a sandwich party.

Ain't no party like a sandwich party, 'cause a sandwich party don't stop!

Thanks to macbebekin's own Elli for the photo of a witchetty grub!...
... which I cheekily posted here before she woke up and saw my desperately-seeking-sandwich-photo email. Hi, Elli!

Inspired by Ximena and redfox, I started making batches of onion-garlic jam.

Whoo doggies, this is good stuff, miles better than the onion jam I used to buy, and once you've sliced all the onions, it can be knocked off on any evening you're staying in. Just wander by the pan once in a while to add ingredients and stir, and otherwise let it bubble away happily until it's time to scoop it into little glass pots.

Onion-garlic jam makes a simple and sexy last-minute cocktail snack: alongside a stack of crackers on a pretty plate, pair a big glob of onion-garlic jam with a generous blob of softened cream cheese or yogurt cheese.

Smear schmear a cracker with cream cheese, then top it with jam. Each bite is a little sensory overload: creamy, crispy, buttery, tangy, pungent, and sweet. Goat cheese and homemade crackers doll this up for your uptown friends, but truthfully, cream cheese and Ritz suit onion-garlic jam just fine. Onion-garlic jam isn't snooty like some hors d'oeuvres we could mention.

Onion-garlic jam also makes a fine addition to sandwiches: tomato and avocado; cheese (grilled or otherwise); cream cheese with anything; grilled vegetables and bean spread.

Biscuits or popovers with this suave, tangy jam will smarten up one of our favorite winter suppers: potatoes, squash, sweet potatoes, and carrots tossed lightly in olive oil, dusted with salt, pepper, and chili powder, then roasted until they're soft in the center, caramelized around the edges. A pot of onion-garlic jam and a dish of goat cheese alongside a basket of hot, flaky biscuits would make me happy to serve this menu to guests.

For meat-eaters, its complexity is just the thing to complement the salty smack of ham, or to punch up chicken or turkey. As a relish alongside a grilled chicken breast or a lamb chop, onion-garlic jam elevates an after-work dinner into something a bit special.

As redfox points out, it's a marvelous addition to scrambled eggs. I imagine it would make a superlative omelette filling, or as addition to, say, mushroom crepes.

As the latest batch bubbles away, wafting its irresistable savor through the apartment, I'm planning to try:

- mashed sweet potatoes seasoned with salt, pepper, and a sliver of butter, topped with a blob of onion-garlic jam. I dread the gussied-up sweet potato monstrousities that haunt so many holiday tables, with their brown sugar and citrus or marshmallow, and always drenched with butter. To my palate, sweet potatoes pack so much flavor and such a luxurious mouthfeel that they're best when treated simply. But this might be a fine compromise: a bit sweet, a bit sharp, a rich flavor that doesn't obscure the flavor of the sweet potatoes themselves.

- baked potatoes with sour cream and onion-garlic jam.

- potato pancakes topped with onion-garlic jam.

- frittata a la anything at all topped with onion-garlic jam.

Now, who wants to give me a recipe for hot pepper jelly?

On my sister gaoo's recommendation, The Fella picked up a big bottle of J.K. Scrumpy hard cider for me to sample. I'm a well-known lightweight, given to wide-eyed staring and whispered pronouncements of "I'm a teeny bit drunk!" after a drink or two, so I tried to persuade him to split the big bottle with me, but no go. I think it's just possible he likes to get me sauced.

Bravely soldiering on, I guzzled the whole lot down on my own, smacking my lips the whole time. Nuanced online reviews of peppery backnotes and smooth finish notwithstanding, I have this to say about Scrumpy: it tastes like non-alcoholic sparkling cider, but, uh, not non-alcoholic.

It's crisp but quite sweet with a boozy little kick, and ridiculously drinkable.

I drank it with a supper of rumbledethumps* with spicy salsa, and it suited that humble dish down to the ground, complementing the earthy flavors while its round, fruity smack balanced the sting of the chiles. I think it might go even better with something slightly sweet and fatty, like a squash pizza. On this first tasting, I found it uncomplicated, but be assured that I'll endure many, many future tastings to be sure.

Incidentally, to scrump = to steal apples.

Also, "scrumpy" is a perfect word to giggle over when you're lolling about on the sofa after two drinks.

*Around here, that's potatoes, cheese, and broccoli, not cabbage.

I am participating in NaBloPoMo. Still!

Stay with me, now.

Last night's dinner was a quick assortment of pizzas, where quick = too lazy to make dough. Though I bought a ball of whole wheat dough made by a local pizza joint, The Fella had the brilliant idea of using the last of the yeasted olive oil dough from his galettes.

Frugal soul that I am, I also used the leftover filling. I flattened out the galette dough, smoothed on a layer of spicy tomato sauce and olive oil, then mozzarella and parmesan, spooned on glops of cinnamon-scented roasted squash pureed with caramelized garlic, scattered caramelized onions over that, covered the whole thing with more cheese, and plopped it on the baking stone.

We also had our standard: Kalamata olive and sauteed mushrooms with garlic on whole wheat dough, with plenty of rosemary.

No contest. The galette dough (several days old at this point) outranked any pizza dough I've seen, and the creamy sweetness of the squash mixes perfectly with the tangy onion and the zing of the sauce. It all disappeared far too fast for our liking, and certainly too fast to snap a photo.

Until last night, the official policy on both the dough and the filling for those galettes was make extra. Addendum to the official policy: for pizza!

Dr. Beardface* and I consume astounding quantities of winter squash. Three big handsome squashes (butternut, delicata, and sweet dumpling) perch plumply on the table right now, awaiting their demise.

I've already described The Fella's luscious roasted butternut squash galettes. As handsome and delicious as those are, they prove a tad too involved to stake out a spot in our daily or weekly repertoire. We're far more likely to scarf down our squash in roasted form, and though often we simply toss it with oil and salt and plunk it into a hot oven, I like to take the extra two minutes of hands-on work that transforms plain roasted squash to the best ever roasted squash. Inspired by Laurie Colwin's squash tian recipe**, the best ever roasted squash has been thoroughly transformed by time, habit, and hazy memory.

*a household endearment for The Fella that honors his stunning beard credentials.

**found in More Home Cooking, a book whose nominal place of honor on my kitchen shelf is usually a narrow empty space --- the book itself is rarely far from my bedside, so alluring are its comforts.

I am participating in NaBloPoMo.