Boston birthday party: Cooking for a lot of people after a few too many, um, olives

Note to self…Don’t try to read recipes, which you are not very good at in the first place, no, do not try to read recipes after the Tanqueray bottle is an inch down.

I cooked a birthday-party dinner last night for one of my closest friends. She wanted whole steamed fish and pretty much left the rest up to me.

Before I left for Boston, I went to the Asian store on Colvin and bought whatever looked good. Choy sum and some beautiful mushrooms. And several huge handfuls of soybean sprouts.

I arrived with piles of groceries and half my kitchen. Fish steamer, check. Rice cooker, check.

My friend got this beautiful ginger grater for her birthday. I put it to good use.

So everything was going along swimmingly. I’m blanching the choy sum, sipping my T&T. People are chatting while munching on the shrimp cocktail that we served with habanero-pineapple salsa from Bros. Tacos. (Big hit.)

Just ducky, ya know.

And then, I got it in my head that I should check my recipe for Thai steamed fish. So I read it over again and some how convinced myself that I’d messed it up.

It seemed to me, in my swimming state, that I was to have reserved half the liquid to pour over the fish after it cooked. All the marinade that I had was covering the fish. So I started dicing and mixing and concocting another batch of chicken stock, lemongrass, etc. to pour over the fish when it was done.

Now, unless you’ve tried this dish it is hard to explain why it should matter so much. But the whole point of Thai steamed fish is that it hits with a carnival-like intensity from the first bite. Serrano chilies, lemongrass, garlic, scallions, lime, sugar. Pow, pow, pow.

When I make it at home, it is one of the few dishes that I don’t serve to my children.

But because I misread my instructions, I discarded the liquid I’d steamed the fish in, effectively washing the carnival down the drain, and topped it with the liquid I’d thrown together at the last minute, which was mild and raw.

I knew I’d gone wrong when one of the guests remarked on how delicate and pure the flavors were. Pure? I was aiming for a nightclub throbbing with techno music and somehow I ended up on a mountaintop with a monk.

Oh, well. The fish wasn’t bad, just not at all what I had intended.

The bean sprouts came out much better.

I love the nutty flavor of soybean sprouts. And because they have bigger heads than mung-bean sprouts, they stay crunchy even after you cook them down. I did them with a bit of grated ginger and soy sauce. A dash of sesame oil and a very small squeeze of lemon at the end. And then a few shakes of sesame seeds for the top.

The best part of the party was the company.

I’ve spent much of the past few months in a funk of anger and sadness. Even though I didn’t do everything right last night, it was the first time I’ve been able to relax in a kitchen and just cook peacefully in a long time. Seriously good therapy. Last night we sat around my friend’s dining room table laughing and talking and laughing some more. Midnight came and went. Kickass cupcakes with candles arrived. At 2 am we were still laughing.