It has never happened before. On two successive weekends, two law-school classmates showed up in town. Unfortunately, they missed one another — they were both housemates of Kathleen’s.

Once again, we gathered for dinner with Fossil Darling and Ray Soleil. This weekend’s guest has long nursed a crush, against crushing odds, on Fossil, and she wanted to have a look at Ray, whom she had never met, to see what he, despite the obvious, had that she didn’t. Also in the party was our friend’s daughter, who is hoping to get into one of the city’s eminent universities at some point during the next six weeks.

This time, we had dinner here, and not at a restaurant. I knew from the start that I was going to serve a big bowl of spaghetti; in the event, I sauced it with my ragù bolognese (which I’ve copied from Giuliano Hazan’s pasta book). I was thinking of grilled chicken with a salad for secondi, but when I was at Fairway I spotted a nice-looked boned and rolled loin of pork. It occurred to me that I could treat this as I do ham, lining the roasting pan with fresh pineapple rings. I would marinate the meat in a blend of ingredients that would probably include maple syrup. Indeed, I found just the right recipe in Classic Home Cooking. Since I had already done my shopping and had no intention of going out again, I substituted a cup of wine for a cup of pineapple juice. It was all pretty simple. Kathleen and our friend vetoed the salad when they saw that I had fresh corn kernels to sauté. Kathleen bought some pastries at Maison Keyser. 

It was pretty simple, but I was on my feet all afternoon. Then I sat down with everyone for an hour, even though I knew that it would be terrifically hard to get back up and into the kitchen. Nevertheless, it all came out well. I made a loaf of garlic toast, using a baguette from Keyser; I really must study the subject of garlic toast, because mine never comes out right, and I conclude that I need of some real recipes.

The pineapple juice would probably have made for a nicer jus than the wine. 

Our friend confessed that she is living vicariously through her pretty daughter’s love life, which isn’t active enough for Mom. I told her (Mom) that, for a goy, she was doing a very good sitcom Jewish mother. I sympathized with her daughter at every turn. That’s what old friends are for; just ask Fossil Darling.

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