The amuse-bouche was a success

I'd like to say up front that the amuse-bouche was a success. Everything after the amuse-bouche is where this story lives, but I want it noted that six people put a small spoon of something in their mouths at 7:15pm and made the noise. That happened. I have witnesses. The plan was seven courses. Six guests. My wife had said "why don't we just do a lasagna," and I had said something about how a dinner party is an opportunity, and she'd made the face she makes when she's decided to let me find out. I'd made a spreadsheet. Timings, oven temperatures, which pan was doing what. I'd done the shopping over three days. I'd bought a blowtorch. I want to be clear that I had never, before this weekend, needed a blowtorch for anything. Course two was a soup. The soup was fine. The soup went out on time. I was, at 7:30, a man with a plan that was working, and if you've never been that man for fifteen minutes you should try it, it's wonderful. Course three was the fish. The fish was where the spreadsheet and reality parted ways. The spreadsheet said eight minutes. Reality said the fish was thicker than the fish in the recipe, and also that I'd been so focused on the fish that I hadn't started the sauce, and the sauce was a beurre blanc, which is a sauce that splits if you look at it wrong, and I looked at it wrong. "How's it going in there?" my wife called. "Great!" I remade the sauce. The fish waited. Fish doesn't wait well. The fish went out at 8:05, thirty-five minutes after the soup, and our friend Dave, who is a good man, said "worth the wait" in a voice that had done its best. Course four was a palate cleanser. A sorbet. I'd made it the day before. I'd put it in the freezer. Someone, and I'm not going to say who, but she'd suggested lasagna, had moved it to the fridge to make room for the wine. "It's a granita now," I said, at the table, with authority. Nobody knew the difference. Two people said they preferred it.

Course five was the main. Lamb. This is where I'd like to talk about the blowtorch, except I can't, because I never got to the blowtorch, because at 8:40 I opened the oven and the lamb was perfect and I had one job which was to rest it, and I rested it, on the counter, where the dog could reach it. The dog got about a third. We had four portions of lamb for six people and my wife, without a word, went to the fridge and started slicing the good cheese, and I've never loved her more. Courses six and seven happened. I don't fully remember them. Cheese, then a chocolate thing I'd made in the morning that was, honestly, very good, and by then it was 10:30 and everyone was on their fourth glass and nobody cared what order anything came in. Dave helped me clear up. He looked at the blowtorch on the counter, still in its box. "What was that for?" "The lamb." "The lamb the dog ate?" "A crust. On the lamb the dog ate." He nodded. He didn't laugh, which is why we're still friends. Next time it's lasagna. I've already said so. My wife said "we'll see," which means she's going to let me find out again.