Looks like I'm officially committed to this party. The invitations went out this morning.
I know, I sound like I've never done this before. As if.
I'm calling it a cocktail party, but really, it's wine and hors d'oeuvres. Cocktails are fussy (I thought about hiring neighbor B. to bartend for me but the spectre of totally sloshed engineers and lawyers was more than I could handle) and since I've decided to set up hors d'oeuvres "stations," I can pair wines with what's being served at each, which should be sort of fun. Because the group that has been invited is culturally diverse, there are all sorts of complications, a delightful social minefield. There are those who are vegetarian for religious reasons, those who don't consume alcohol for whatever reason, those who only want to drink Scotch (which is beyond reason), and I have no doubt that I will find at least one person I didn't know was vegan looking desperately at the sour cream dip.
The spouse, perusing the proposed menu, said, "Oh, are we doing this on a Friday?" because there were a fair number of fish dishes, the GOHs are practicing Catholics and I'm giving a party during Lent.
"No. Saturday," I told him.
"Then lose some of the fish!" he exclaimed. He doesn't like fish.
"You aren't supposed to eat," I replied. "You are supposed to mingle and make sure people have drinks."
And no, fish isn't meat. To Catholics, anyway. Look, I don't make the rules.
The son also believes he should have a say in what's served even though he isn't invited. I suppose I could dress him up in black trousers and white shirt and make him pass trays. Heh. I kind of like that idea.
I'll admit that I'm doing this as much as a morale booster as I am a sendoff for a couple we've known for many years. I really don't know the mood of the rest of the nation, but here behind the Orange Curtain, it's bad. Between the job losses, the fall of the housing market, threatened cuts in everything, that woman, everyone is just in a state. And there is a terrible sense that we are all waiting for something. Armageddon, maybe. (Personally, I'll take tea. I have no idea how long or even *if* that link will work, but the whole thing was hilarious. And Armageddon? He can get it for you wholesale). Even the kids are feeling this. Not pleasant.
So, a party. Even if the very thought exhausts me. A party starring comfort food. Because everyone seems to need comfort right now.
Menu for a Wine and Cheese Farewell
Homemade hummus with toasted whole wheat pita
Sour cream onion dip with crudité
Hot artichoke dip with water crackers
Brie en croûte with cherries and pistachios with baguette slices
Manchego with membrillo and Marcona almonds
A really good Cheddar I haven't decided on yet with assorted crackers
Sliced meat tray
Vegetarian sushi rolls
Lobster salad on Belgian endive spears
Mini quiches or vegetable samosas
Deviled cocktail sausages
Some sort of grilled or boiled shrimp because the son insists and plans to eat them all himself
Selection of white and red wines
Selection of beer
So...perhaps I should go start washing windows or something?
Go listen to some music: "1999" from the album 1999 by Prince. Yes, as a matter of fact, there is a reason I always favor the use of crudité. It reminds me of a Texas gentleman with whom I worked at UCLA, and when we were involved in planning a party, he kept emphasizing that we had to have crudité! Given a very strong Texas pronunciation. I always smile and think about him when putting together a vegetable platter.