I like to think of myself as organized, in control – mistress of my universe. But the truth is so far from that ideal that it’s almost laughable. And nothing brings clarity to that truth better than a dinner party.
In the abstract, I love to entertain. I picture the table looking gorgeous and fun – or maybe just fun. I’ve hung streamers from the chandelier, constructed a giant Eiffel Tower from a 3-D puzzle for the centerpiece, even set live goldfish in a crystal bowl as part of a seaside theme. With the table image in mind, I sit down with my recipes and start mixing colors and textures and tastes in what I hope will be both interesting and delicious. I tell my imagination to run wild.
And it does – usually right into a brick wall. It turns out, I’m not really good at gauging how long anything – from setting the table to plating the meal – consumes in the time between the idea and the effort. Invariably, some piece or pieces of the event go by the wayside.
My most recent brick wall took place in advance of a dinner party I auctioned off at a high school reunion. It’s a fun concept, and a really different way to raise money for a charity: I offered to cook dinner for 8 on the giant screened porch at my house. I did the same thing in my New Jersey days, and it was a great success, though that time I served the dinner at the buyer’s house.
