
By Greg
Over the past year, I’ve had the great fortune of being a guest at the tables of two friends, Todd and Danny, who are fantastic at-home cooks and share a particular energy toward entertaining. Todd and Danny both possess the propensity to astound with their culinary creations and are sharply focused on pulling back the curtain and welcoming their guests behind the scenes instead of putting on a show.
Observing Todd and Danny work in their respective kitchens feels like watching a painter in his studio; the way their meals come together feels gestural, in the moment, and inspired. Todd cruises around in his apron, wielding a giant knife like a magic wand. He chops, slices, and dices all while giving you his undivided attention. Danny’s assured choreography of tending to various pots on the stove, ensuring meats are at the perfect temperature, and knowing exactly when to pull a bake is something to marvel at. They both also have an endearing reverence for their favorite celebrity chefs. For Todd, Alison Roman, and Danny, Ina Garten.
Let me share a highlight reel of Todd and Danny in their element.
Todd
Lost in the Sauce
For his husband Dylan’s birthday dinner, Todd gifted everyone at the party a meal they’ll never forget. A fairy tale-sized pot of pasta cast a hush over the guests as it burst onto the spread. Earlier, while retrieving a drink from the kitchen, I encountered Todd at the moment he was folding cheese into the dish. He glanced at the vat and then at me and uttered, “I think I made too much.” Indeed, the volume of pasta looked big enough to feed a high school track team's pre-meet carbo load. Back at the table, a chorus of moans erupted. One of the guests, Eve, said, “Todd, Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is like…grown-up Chef Boyardee.” She was spot on. The dish was so creamy and satisfying that it made me forget where I was for a moment—I was genuinely lost in the sauce. It was one of the best homemade pasta dishes I’ve enjoyed, and to that, there’s no such thing as too much. When everyone helps themselves to thirds and can’t stop complimenting the chef, you know you’ve got a hit on your hands. There was little room for cake.
Shook by Shallots
Todd knocked a vegetarian Cobb salad out of the goddamn park at a recent casual gathering in which pizza was served. Prepared as a side dish, the Cobb quickly claimed top billing. The salad was fresh, verdant, and had a mysterious, sweet and sharp kick. I could see surprise grow on several other partygoers' faces as they started to take bites. Eve, also present at this event, was the first to ask Todd what that “something special” was. He revealed it was shallot and what a celebration of the vegetable it was. Not only were they finely chopped and mixed in, but they also served as the base for the dressing. With a Cobb, I was expecting a creamy buttermilk dressing but was shook by this silky, pungent vinaigrette. The presentation also added to the joy; Todd piled the salad in a colossal steel bowl, and I was impressed by the avalanche of romaine and expertly hard-boiled eggs. Care was also taken for those sensitive to blue cheese (me), which was served on the side. The thoughtful consideration of what could have been a throwaway side salad once again inspired a convivial chatter. With Todd at the helm, pizza parties are out and salad soirees are in.
Pasta Prefect
I was among several lucky guests to attend a dinner at Dylan’s mom’s house, where Todd would be cooking in a renovated kitchen. When we arrived, Todd answered the door in an apron and a look that was giving “boarding school prefect summers as private tennis coach in the Hamptons.” He often puts an outfit together when he entertains, and this round certainly added to the charm and vibe of the evening. Dylan’s mom’s beautiful open-concept kitchen was cooking show chic and the perfect venue for a Todd-style dinner. Various ingredients were attractively prepped and propped on the giant slab counter in little bowls, leaving us to guess what was for dinner.
While the main dish simmered in a cast iron skillet, Todd dazzled, making martinis with a twist and landing zingers to crudité conversation. When he cooks, it's fun to watch his face change from hesitant to quizzical to pleased with each little taste from the pan.
Dinner was revealed to be a summer zucchini pasta served with another stunner of a salad. The pasta tasted like July in a dish—a fireworks grand finale of basil, garlic parmesan and garden-fresh squash. Everyone demanded the recipe.
When complimented, Todd instantly deflects any attention and credits the recipe author. But I know that those wrist flicks, culinary inquisitiveness, and measuring with the tongue are the secret to why his dinners always taste exquisite.
Danny
Fennely I See
Hours before arriving at Danny’s house for dinner, I received a text from his husband, Tom. It was a picture of their new corgi puppy, Arthur, patiently sitting by Danny’s side while preparing the night’s entree. “Also, if you didn’t clock it in the pic, are you okay with fennel?” I felt a jolt of panic. Truth be told, I hated the stuff. The licorice/anise flavor I’ve detected in fennel always turned my stomach. At the beginning of our friendship, Danny, Tom, and I agreed to be radically honest regarding food preferences. I clunked out a response, letting them know I didn’t love fennel, but given my deep appreciation for Danny’s cooking, I would happily give it a go.
Cut to later that night when a gorgeous rigatoni and sausage dish appeared before me. “The fennel is really mixed in, so you shouldn’t taste it,” Danny assured. I shoved a forkful of pasta into my piehole and let it sit. I could, in fact, taste the fennel and…it was incredible. In Danny’s hands, this vegetable added dimension and depth to what was already a phenomenal pasta dish. Armed with an Ina Garten recipe and his kitchen prowess, Danny left me wondering what else my mouth had been missing. Consider me a converted friend of fennel.
Raising the Bar
A year ago, Danny dressed as Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf from The Hours showed up with a batch of pumpkin chocolate chip cookie bars to a friend’s Halloween party. These bars were slightly shiny with a perceptible texture that made them look eligible for a Bon Appetit cover. “Bars” have a special place in my heart, as my grandma would make “congo bars,” a version of a blondie and my favorite thing to eat as a kid. She would often bring them for her church’s coffee hour, and it was the only way to get my ass to sit through a sermon.
Danny’s bars were beyond. These puppies were made with browned butter, which resulted in a deep, nutty flavor that gloriously pirouetted with the pumpkin spice. The texture was chewy and full, with pockets of rich, dark chocolate chips. My grubby paws reached for three over the course of the party. They were so good that I felt moved to evangelize, waltzing around, greeting new people, and asking if they had tried Danny’s baked goods. When leaving, I glimpsed one remaining bar on the dessert spread. I swiped it into a Tupperware and gobbled it down later that night.
These bars made such an impression that they’ve become synonymous with autumn. When I see the first leaf fall from a tree, I’m texting Danny, begging him to whip up some of that good good. This year, I’ve been blessed with three pumpkin bar encounters. The third time, he brought them to another Halloween party (dressed as Art from Challengers) and whispered that he had added a little kick to the recipe by upping all of the spices. This spellbinding extra hit of ginger, cinnamon, and clove had roving around directing ghouls and sexy vampires to the dessert cart. Before exiting the party, I performed my ritual of one last look. it was the only plate that had been wiped clean.
Apologies to my grandmother, but Danny’s bars have me on my knees.
The Barefoot Contessa’s Chicken (Danny’s Version)
Danny has served Ina Garten’s roast chicken on several occasions. I swear it gets better each time I’ve eaten it, but during the most recent meal, I knew that something had changed. The chicken was beautifully plated and served alongside an astonishing butternut squash with a maple bacon glaze. Bread from a local bakery has been placed in the bottom of the roasting pan to marinate in the juices. The chicken was tender, succulent, and 90s Gushers-commercial-exploding-with-flavor good. After the first bite, I paused for a beat and stared at Danny, slack-jawed. “Honey, I know you did something different, and I need to know.” When Danny talks about his food, his voice sweetly takes on the quality of an NPR host describing the plot of a new novel. He explained that this time, he had rubbed rosemary, thyme, and lots of garlic under the skin of the chicken. It was a game-changer, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I like to imagine Danny as a scientist, tinkering away in his lab brimming with Le Creuset cookware and dreaming up ways to improve upon perfection. I eagerly await the next sublime experiment.
For me, Todd and Danny’s meals are the best kind of art: creations that literally nurture others. Their food and the atmosphere they produce cast a shimmer over our evenings together that evokes intimacy. You can taste their curiosity about ingredients and enthusiasm for cooking in their meals, extending the experience from the plate into the room. You can’t help but engage your neighbor in a lively discussion about the feast before you. Passion, joy, and the comfort of a home-cooked meal are magnificently displayed at Todd and Danny’s tables. Through the steam of their dinners, I can see both of their hearts more clearly.
Related: Read Todd’s guest story, Read Danny’s guest story
A special thank you to this week’s illustrator, Cara Wang1. See more of her work here.
Drawing in a style that is natural, naïve and fun, Cara Wang is a New York-based illustrator whose works capture the feeling and fabric of everyday life with charm and innocence. The forms she creates are quirky, the proportions and perspectives improbable, but using characters, colours and textures the meaning and emotion shine through.