This hostess can party hard(ly)
Lori Borgman | Monday, Dec 06, 2010
It has
been 18 years since I have attended a holiday meal or party in my own home. I
have hosted them; I just have not attended them.
I have every intention of enjoying these special occasions, of savoring the
food, of leisurely visiting with family and friends. I plan for days. I make
food ahead of time. I promise myself to keep it simple. I plot a time and
motion, bake and defrost schedule.
I even sit in a jumper chair. A jumper chair is the chair nearest the end
of the table so it saves steps when you jump up to retrieve something from the
kitchen. A good jumper position can shave five seconds off retrieving more ice.
I jump for rolls in the oven, to give the gravy a zap in the
microwave and to refill the water glasses. I jump for more butter, a spoon for
the cranberries and to turn off the oven.
By the time I am finished jumping, people are loosening their
belt buckles and pushing back from the table. The potatoes are cold and the
green beans are limp. The only dish remotely resembling its original state is
the relish tray. Yum. Pass the green olives, please.
They said the meal was great and the conversation was wonderful.
I’ll have to take their word for it.
Things don’t fare much better at an open house. I set the table
service, have the drinks ready to go and snacks on the table. But once the crowd
shows up, the marathon begins. Only a novice hostess would be caught wearing
heels.
You sprint to the kitchen to refill the punch bowl, find the
artificial sweetener, dig out more napkins and refill the nut bowl. In
between trips to the kitchen you greet Bob and introduce him to Susan, say hello
to Mike, introduce him to Jay and never break stride in your 100-yard dash.
One guest hands you a lovely bouquet as another calls out, “Do
you have something to get this spill off your tablecloth with?” You tuck the
flowers under your armpit, where they instantly wilt, and then make a mad dash
for some club soda.
You want to talk lonely in your own home? Try the kitchen sink
when the party is roaring in the other room.
“You’re
saying funny things in there! No talking until I get back.”
They
cannot hear you over the peals of laughter.
The best you can do is hope for an instant replay from a family
member once everyone is gone.
“Was the
cheeseball a hit?”
“You
didn’t see how fast it disappeared?”
“I was in
the kitchen fighting 400 degree heat waves, pulling hot hors d'oeuvres out of
the oven.”
At the
last holiday party we threw, I was helping a guest on with her coat as she was
about to leave. She turned to me, smiled and said, “I had a lovely time. You
give such nice parties.”
“So I’ve
heard.”
