Alison Roman knows exactly what to cook, bake, and pour to keep delicate dinner politics in balance. The chef—a former New York Times columnist, Bon Appétit alum, and owner of upstate New York grocery First Bloom—has nurtured a devoted following drawn to her colloquial approach to cooking. She has also spawned viral one-word recipes in spades (her holy trinity: the Stew, the Cookies, and the Dip).
Fresh off the launch of her fourth cookbook, Something From Nothing, and in the midst of her collaborative run with downtown cafe Casetta on a pop-up of First Bloom’s specialty goods and recipes (through November 30), Roman gets down to the meat and potatoes of holiday hosting—from navigating awkward seating arrangements to what happens when the ice runs dry.
What are you grabbing from First Bloom for the perfect holiday party?
These really expensive anchovies [by Don Bocarte] are very worth it. When you eat them, you’re like, “Oh my God, I’ve never had anything like this.” If you show up for a dinner party with those and really good salted butter, people are like, “You are incredible.” The salted butter comes from Cowbella, which is a creamery up in the Catskills. It’s a marigold color—beautiful, fatty, creamy. And to round it out, a Nordic crisp bread.
When was the last time you cried in the kitchen, and why?
Probably in the last few months. I was postpartum, and having a baby is hard. I was doing a lot of crying in the kitchen, but not about the kitchen.
At a holiday party, would you rather run out of ice or alcohol first?
I could do without the alcohol, but if there are guests, I don’t want to ruin their good time. Even if you do not drink, you need ice. That’s non-negotiable. If you run out of ice, it’s game over.
It’s torrentially snowing, Irving Berlin is playing, and you have 30 minutes before hangry guests arrive. What are you—tastefully—throwing together?
I’m buying a rotisserie chicken because I don’t have time to roast one. I’m making three really good vegetable sides: a good tomato something, a leafy-herby salad, and beans. I’m picking a recipe from the book that uses canned beans, which cuts the time in half.
What’s the worst thing that someone could bring to a potluck dinner party?
An ambient temperature, wet, mayonnaise-based dish. Don’t do it. I don’t want it.
You’re reborn as the perfect hors d’oeuvre. What are you?
I’m a little bit of caviar and a potato chip with some sour cream.
You’re working on the seating chart for a holiday dinner. Where do you put the couple that always bickers in public?
One on each end of the table.
Your socially awkward cousin?
Near the middle so I can keep an eye on them, but not too central. It’s a very delicate balance.
Your woo-woo friend who reads auras?
In the middle! That’s the kind of person who can liven things up.
The person who can’t put their phone away?
Just don’t invite them.
in your life?
