Potato Gratin

Our friend Richard (on the far right) passed away this summer. I heard about his tragic death when I turned my cell phone on around midnight of August 15th. I had just landed on the tarmac of Oakland airport and was returning home from vacation because my grandfather was about to die. The day after grandpa died, I went to the service for Richard. I was having a rough time so when they invited people up to talk about Richard or relate a favorite story about him, I didn't go up and say anything. I meant to relay the following vignette.

We were hosting a dinner party at Halcyon Court several years ago and many people from Kermit Lynch wine merchants were coming over, including Richard. Richard was a jolly gourmand with an appreciation of many fine things in life, including Potato Gratin. He arrived and came into the kitchen, my usual post during dinner parties, to say hello. He glanced at the potatoes I was slicing on the mandolin and with delight apparent on his face inquired: "Are you making potato gratin??" I smiled and assented. He watched as I buttered the LeCreuset Gratin Pan and added some minced garlic. "With garlic??" I smiled again and nodded. He watched as I layered the pan with thin slices of potatoes, and then sprinkled salt, pepper, and a few shavings of nutmeg. "And nutmeg??" I grinned again. And then with the gusto of life and the joy that gratin brings, Richard said "Oh, I LOVE YOU!" The evening was great, although between the wines and rich food I have only fuzzy happy memories of the rest of it. And now, when, as tonight, I make potato gratin, I think fondly of Richard.

(cover layered seasoned potatoes with heated cream and milk, and then shmear sour cream on top and bake for an hour and a half at 300, plus 30 minutes at 400)

(the picture is from the dinner before our friend Erin's amazing wedding in France, where Richard was the only person to plow through the disgusting, although very French, Andouiette sausage. what a champ!)