A friend on our road is having a birthday dinner tonight that is turning into a ‘hurrah we can party’ party and she has invited a horde of people. She wrote an email to all the guests telling them it is potluck but ‘Jane will make appetizers’ and a list of other known bakers and cooks with their particular assignments. Everyone else was asked to fill in. I used to make appetizers that were fiddly and delicious, sage leaves with anchovies pressed in the middle and dipped into a lovely Italian batter and quickly dropped into boiling fat for a second. I pressed cold smoked salmon with thinly sliced apples and prosciutto into molds until they could be turned upside down and hold their shape. It went on. This however was thirty people I know by sight, neighbors who are pleasant to ask about their dog or their garden’s shiny red tomatoes, friends of the host I have never set eyes on before, and all of it outdoors on a very warm evening full of flying creatures that bite, large ones and small. We don’t mention of course, our very first post Covid party.
John talked me into several dips as easy, although not my favorite, and heaping trays of bright orange organic carrots, sliced to hold food and piles of sweet Mexican jicama sticks. All the unripe cherry tomatoes were slowly baked for many hours until sweet and mixed with some cream cheese and pink onions for a wonderful bruschetta. I roasted cauliflower and zucchinis sliced into sticks and covered with cumin seeds, easy to eat with one’s fingers. Miniature vegan pizzas bought by mistake and put into the freezer months ago were added to the trays now groaning with food. John made beautiful cards to describe the smoked trout dip, sundried tomato pesto with mint and oregano from the garden, a mélange of cheeses melted together with more herbs and whipped into a bowl.
Afternoon came and I had been in the kitchen since dawn, eager to get a start on another broiling day. By three in the afternoon, we had trays and trays lined up in the kitchen, sitting on an open ironing board, counters and floors. Everything waiting for the final flourish. I sat on the sofa, and promptly fell asleep, something that I absolutely never do. When I woke up the party had started and mayhem followed. John calmly drove cold trays full of food across the road while I wept and shouted at the oven to cook faster as the cauliflower slowly turned brown and crispy as directed. I threw on a pair of tights despite the heat, a long-sleeved shirt to keep insects at bay, sprayed myself with poison bug spray, and walked with the finally grilled and roasted vegetables on the last platter across the large garden. I was greeted halfway by an Ojai acquaintance, someone else took the platter and I never made it any closer to the food the entire evening.
Hours later with a green salad on a plate in front me I sat again and wondered if I would have the energy to walk home. I learnt however, that I don’t have the stamina I used to have and that I am not yet ready for large social groups of people I don’t know. Perhaps the social part of who I used to be has died and I am ready to make friends with a quieter, more reserved and definitely less vocal version of myself.
I only hope they ate all the damned appetizers.
