A common phenomenon among the food obsessed is to game-plan the next meal while eating the current one, and it doesn’t stop at dinner, either; the musing just rolls over to tomorrow’s breakfast.
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Stanley Tucci talked to Frank Bruni about it recently in the New York Times but at a cooking demonstration and book signing of The Tucci Cookbook last night, organized by Gilt City, he delved a little deeper.
“I’d wake up in the morning and my mother would talk about what we were going to have for dinner that night,” Tucci said. “Then she would come home at night from work with my dad, because they worked in the same place, and start cooking that meal. As we were eating, we were talking about how good it was and also talking about what to eat the next day. On the weekends this conversation was only compounded because there was more time.”
More than 120 rather handsome guests crammed into the small showroom—an open kitchen with industrial-sized appliances and no fourth wall—at The Kitchen NYC. Champagne was served and hors d’oeuvres passed around—bruschetta, baccalà, eggplant tapenade on toast. The servers had a tough time making their way through the crowd. Getting trays to the back of the room was a chore on par with threading through the subway platform during rush hour, and the front of the room, near the stage was a veritable blockade as guests jostled for good views. Others, less concerned with a prime spot, mingled, outfitted as if nervous to be labeled a style don’t (as though perhaps Nigel, the caustic but friendly art director Tucci played in The Devil Wears Prada might show up).