On a recent Saturday afternoon, Benny Blanco’s kitchen was a whirlwind of activity: pink-orange salmon fillets were doused with salt, green-green snow peas were carefully sliced for their bias, a buzzing food processor was given a handful of safety-cone-orange carrots to shred.
And there he was, in the middle, with his fingers in the tonnato.
Mr. Blanco walked the blender full of creamy, pungent Italian dipping sauce—a mixture of tuna, mayonnaise, lemon juice, and herbs—to Jess Damuck so she could taste it.
“More lemon,” she said after a moment of thought.
†More† he asked.
She nodded and he picked up two lemons from the kitchen island, strewn with a Tetris-esque maze of plates and saucers.
This is a version of the dance that Mr. Blanco and Mrs. Damuck, both 34, have performed regularly for most of a year while preparing dozens of dinner parties for a small, changing group of friends. Mrs. Damuck is a recipe developer and food stylist, and Mr. Blanco is a Grammy-nominated songwriter and music producer; their shared love of bon vivants produced intimate backyard gatherings that filled a social void for a certain creative class in the days when Covid restrictions meant restaurants were closed and large inner municipalities frowned upon. In a city that runs on velvet ropes and VIP rooms, these quiet dinners have become a coveted invitation.
Mr. Blanco and Mrs. Damuck met through her boyfriend, the actor and director Ben Sinclair, from the HBO series “High Maintenance.” Knowing that mr. Blanco was a foodie — in addition to his music career, he and food personality Matty Matheson host a cheekily titled YouTube series — the pair invited him on the night she was testing a challah recipe for her newsletter.
“When I got down,” Mrs. Damuck recalled, “they stood there with all ten fingers in the challah, and Benny turned to me and said, ‘I haven’t even tasted this, and I know it’s the best challah is I ever had. ever had.’”
“It was orgasmic,” interrupted Mr. Blanco. “I looked her boyfriend in the eye and you could have done anything to me at that moment.”
While these soirees are normally thrown for their own good, this evening was to celebrate the release of Mrs. Damuck’s first cookbook, “Salad Freak.” As such, Mr. Blanco acted more like a sous chef than a mischievous co-chef.
“Normally I would make it a bit heavier,” he said of the tonnato. “I’d add some spice, or something vinegary. Maybe I’d throw in a whole chicken. But tonight we’re not going to do that.”
Mrs. Damuck cut her teeth in the test kitchen of Martha Stewart Living magazine, where for years she was tasked with making the household goddess’s daily lunch salad. The pursuit often took many hours and involved trips to the farmers’ market and working within Mrs. Stewart’s dietary preferences. “I remember one day she came in and said, ‘This lettuce is too tender. From now on, I just want crispy lettuce,’” recalls Mrs. Damuck. “It freaked me out. No more arugula or baby vegetables And butter lettuce can’t be washed like normal lettuce in a salad spinner, you have to take each leaf and let it rest on a baking tray lined with kitchen paper.” She must have done something right; Mrs. Stewart wrote the foreword to her book.
After the challah experience, Mrs. Damuck brought a watermelon and shiso salad to a barbecue at Mr. Blanco’s Malibu house. From there, these dinners blossomed.
“Meeting Benny and starting parties with him was great because I was fairly new to LA and I got a group of friends right away,” said Mrs. Damuck. These gatherings range from a handful of people in Mr. Blank to high concept dinners for about 30 guests, like the steakhouse themed party they threw in Montecito for New Years.
“Cooking with him is great because he is so enthusiastic,” she said. “He’s a really great cook, but it’s not what he does for work, so he tries to suck it all up while you do it. He is never very critical. You know, it’s not always easy to cook with other people.”
Together they make a funny strange couple: she is balanced and deliberate; he is furious on the verge of being wild. He likes to plan the menu days in advance and is obsessed with everything during FaceTime sessions, while she likes to be more spontaneous but thorough in her execution.
“She’ll wash pea vines,” said Mr. Blanco, “and I’m like, ‘This isn’t Martha Stewart, it’s my stoned friends.'” prettiest picks for a perfect picture. “And then these people just put them in their mouths after smoking a fat blunt.”
As the afternoon faded to dusk, friends began to trickle in from the entertainment, music and food worlds. The mix of unexpected faces makes these evenings a success. On this particular night, actor Dan Stevens was a guest in a matching pajama set; the musician Jessie Ware from London; Molly Baz, a culinary personality; Karley Sciortino, a writer on sex and relationships; and Dave Burd, a comedian and rapper known to fans as Lil Dicky. Teamed up in their tie-dyed Online Ceramics T-shirts, droopy joggers and Birkenstock clogs, the small party could easily be mistaken for a hippie-chic cult.
While the book party might have been a little more formal than their usual gatherings (a recent high school-themed shindig with Juicy Couture velor tracksuits), it still felt like a family affair. Mr. Blanco leaned on the floor and talked to Mr. Burd as everyone shuffled over to the cushions on the lawn and ate.
“A lot of the people who come here are used to really nice stuffy events,” said Ms. Damuck (Mr. Blanco had been to the Grammys earlier that week). “So we keep this one casual.”
It was not uncommon for guests to gather around the table where the dinner—salmon, lamb meatballs with labne, carrot salad with pickled raisins, stewed leeks—was artfully arranged. During dessert of fresh strawberries and spicy strips of rhubarb on top of a dense shortbread, singer Sia arrived in a patchwork dress and danced through the garden.
Towards the end of the evening, Mrs. Damuck stood at the kitchen door, looking at all the bodies strewn on pillows in their post-dinner satiety.
“I saw Dave Burd try his first vegetable,” she said. “He doesn’t like fruits or vegetables, but he tried endive and I think he really liked it.”
Earlier in the evening, Mr. Blanco had proudly admitted that he loved cleaning up after a night like this – “I like to do all the things that no one else wants to do,” he said – but on this occasion he felt different. Instead, he made an early exit. Before sneaking upstairs when the last guests were calling for cars, he turned and said in a whisper, “Shh. Do not tell anyone.”