I love fall for the scarves and the gourds, but most of all I love that it has a synonym — part of my job is copywriting, and when you’re trying to craft a quippy paragraph about the season’s new shoes, it’s nice to be able to send in “autumn” off the bench when you’ve already made two puns on its counterpart (Fall in love! Fall for it! Fall head over heels! “And if we fall as Lucifer fell…”)
In my estimation there is a third synonym, too, an alternate definition, a hyperlink to “see also” on its thesaurus.com entry, all leading to “When Harry Met Sally.” Before even the leaves turn red or the pumpkins sprout, stills from Nora Ephron’s magnum opus bloom annually without fail — just as sure as “April showers bring May flowers,” the autumn equinox brings that one picture of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan walking through Central Park, or that other picture of them squatting in an impossibly gigantic loft apartment wearing loud cable-knits. The movie remains as one of our last relics of mass culture — the closest thing we have to appointment viewing, though instead of tuning in at 8/7 central, we watch as soon as we feel a cool breeze.
The first cool-breeze day of fall in New York feels like a citywide holiday. Blood rushes back to waxy cheeks, you no longer commute surfing on a wave of your own sweat, upstate apples flow freely from the storm drains, and Harry and Sally are the day’s veritable mascots — the September Santa Clauses, bringing the gift of caustic wit and gut-wrenching displays of vulnerability and great hats (Sally) and baffling hairlines (Harry).
This year, I decided to give our heroes the celebration they deserve, the only way I know how — an elaborate pun-based dinner party. Cue: When Harry Met Salads.
The Menu:
In the middle of my all-salad party I wanted to have a meaty main event to keep the ladies happy. My answer was this Bon Appetit number — a big bowl of what would happen if you shook out the innards of an Italian sub. Sliced salami, pearl mozzarella, shaved provolone, cherry tomatoes, red onions, mingling with chopped iceberg and big sourdough croutons all doused in an incredible oregano-y vinaigrette. It’s sick and twisted and, in another era, might be found at #4 on a Buzzfeed list of “Salads That Are Actually Fire,” but therein lies much of its appeal. It’s uncool, and completely delicious.
My roommate Evy can make a Sunday-dinner-at-the-country-club Caesar with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back, lovingly adapted from Molly Baz’s recipe. To describe it would be to insult both of our intelligences. Like, “oh, have you tried chocolate milk? It’s literally so good.” “Ohhh my god do you know who I LOVE? Lizzo!” Let’s not do that. It’s Caesar Salad.
I’m almost evangelical in my zeal for spreading the good word of this recipe. It’s one wherein the directions are largely “chop it,” and the finished product leaves people in a state of childlike wonder. “What is that flavor, Mama?” they ask me, eyes wide, brimming with tears. “Za’atar oil, baby, za’atar oil” I whisper back, kissing their forehead.
Trio of Deli Salads
We plated a fleet of mayo-based mushes on a gorgeous bed of iceberg lettuce, attempting to harness a real 70s-swingers-cigarette-butt-feathered-bangs aesthetic. Gorgeous lumps of potato salad, chicken salad, and egg salad, (my Avengers) with fat shards of Matzo crackers for them to ride on.
What’s classier than a dish where all the ingredients are in the name? Decadent folds of bright, green zucchini pappardelle bedazzled with shaved pecorino, fresh mint leaves, and almonds, dressed in champagne vinegar (not in the name but dressing counts as a free space). The recipe comes from “Salad Freak” by Jess Damuck, who cut her teeth as a Martha Stewart intern tasked with making Martha’s lunchtime salad every day. There’s no black belt for salad-making but if there were I think this is the only way I would trust someone to earn it.
Chip Salad
This is where you buy four different kinds of kettle-cooked potato chips and mix them up in one bowl (also called “Chip Surprise.”) I went with truffle, salt and pepper, salt and vinegar, and dill pickle, but the beauty of Chip Salad is that you can choose your own adventure, and all roads lead to “how fun!” Let your light shine here, reader.
Peaches and Plums
That’s it! The dregs of summer’s bounty, fresh from the Union Square farmer’s market. Optional canister of whipped cream topping for those not driving themselves home.
No party is complete without a souvenir graphic tee.
The idea for this t-shirt came to me in a dream and I made it immediately “because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with (a t-shirt) you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." Get one and text me when you wear it so we can match!
So glad to see the boring 20s back in my inbox 💌💌💌💌