How (not) to have a successful dinner party.

I have never had a perfect dinner party, but I have done so much wrong in my attempts that I am certain if you do the exact opposite of everything I've tried, perfection can be the only, logical result. My mother was the quintessential party hostess. She threw dinner parties that were simple and elegant. My sister, brother and I always knew when a dinner party was going to happen because it was the only time we were allowed to eat hot dogs or fast food -- in our bedrooms. Apparently, when it comes to entertaining, this apple fell far from the tree.

At my very first dinner party (it included my parents and godparents and I was barely 20) I served beef stroganoff. Simple and elegant, the sauce began as a powder in an envelope that was mixed with a bucket of sour cream. The noodles were overcooked, and the rolls were like bricks. Things never got much better over the years; in fact, among a small community of friends, my dinner parties have become the stuff of legend. There was the time I set Cornish hens on fire. The time I left an oven mitt on a candle and set off the smoke alarms. The time I thought a 4-pound prime rib roast was enough for 8 people. (Who eats more than a half pound of meat?). The time I served scallops to a guest allergic to seafood and steak to a vegan couple. I have overcooked pasta, undercooked frittatas and once -- just once -- fell asleep in another room while guests were still at the dinner table. (I forgot to eat all day, had three glasses of wine, spilled something on my skirt and went upstairs to change. Sat down on the bed for a second and promptly fell over, asleep.). Still I persist in the dream that I will -- just once -- make my mother proud. In that vein, I offer the three most important lessons I've learned, advice that should help you have the perfect dinner party.

Lesson 1
First -- Some successful hostesses will tell you a dinner party is the perfect place to reel in a new friend or two, but believe me, that's a disaster just waiting to happen. Stick with people you know and who know each other. Everybody operates in different social circles. Work friends are the people you spend 8 hours a day with (while wearing makeup and usually on your best behavior). These people, generally, are under the illusion you behave the same way after 5 p.m. that you do before 5 p.m. Then there are the long-term friends, the ones who knew you when you were married to your first spouse. Think of them as the friends who know where you keep your skeletons. Likely they were friends when you were in college, or shortly after -- the "experimental" years. Then there are the friends you want to impress -- those people whom you hope to convince that you are smarter and more adept than you really are. Then there's your family. Do not invite your family to a dinner party. Three glasses of wine later and your sister will start talking about that time in high school when you took your dad's car without permission and backed into a telephone pole.

Lesson 2
Timing. Saturday night dinner parties are dangerous. People seem to think you're dying to listen to their stories about obnoxious employees or difficulty potty training their toddler until the dawn's early light. Fridays are perfect. Most folks are tired of working all day, anxious to unwind and will peter out at a fairly reasonable hour. If it's on a weeknight, everybody should go home at a decent hour; if they don't you can always pull the "My, I have to get up early!" yawn to get them to leave.

Lesson 3
Try to find out if your guests are allergic to anything, adverse to anything or followers of some specific (and possibly weird) diet. Then don't invite those people. While guests should not go home hungry, or with salmonella, a dinner party is not the right time to try a new recipe for mussels, especially if you've never cooked mussels. I'm not sure but I think they can kill you if you don't cook them right. It's also dangerous to experiment with liver, steak tartare and anything you canned -- botulism is ugly and even good friends will try to convince you that the lawsuit isn't personal, it's about insurance.

Finally, sometimes the perfect dinner party arrives in a box delivered by a 17-year -old kid wearing a grease splattered shirt and driving a dented Aveo.

But stick to pepperoni: not everybody likes a bacon, lettuce and tomato pizza.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 803