Tuesday, December 15, 2009

holiday party, number eight


In which I catered an event for one hundred snooty SoHo philanthropists. I did this because our caterers canceled at eight that morning. I did this in under seven hours.

The menu included:

Crab cakes (with handmade remoulade and a flat leaf parsley garnish), spanikopita, mini quiche, pigs in blankets, black olive pastry puffs. A spiral ham with grain mustard, cornichons and multigrain bread points with sliced Irish cheddar. Marinated bocconcini with a grape tomato garnish. Sliced dry sausage paired with gouda. Assorted crackers. Hand-julienned crudité with white bean rosemary dip. Shrimp cocktail.

. . . and three elaborate cheeseboards, which included a triple-creme brie, aged goat with rosemary, Chaumes or Epoisses (depending on the platter), a stinky stilton, a stilton with apricot, Wensleydale with cranberries, a fresh crottin and fig ginger jam—all garnished with green grapes, red cherries, walnuts, spiraled strawberries, apricots and dried cranberries.

Then my Jedi-ninja-waitress training kicked in and I spent the three hours of the party scurrying behind guests collecting their sullied cocktail napkins and plates, teetering around on four-inch heels with a tray full of empty glasses, and replenishing dishes that had been, for lack of a better term, shithoused.

My motley crew and I had at least three job offers by the time I started laying out the cookie assortments and the rugelach.

Were it not for the last minute champagne donation, the evening's end may have found me grumpy, up to my elbows in potwash. Thanks to Costco and B-grade bubbly, I live to tell this tale.

1 comment:

EEJ said...

Well, that's badass.