The Christmas Crunch

Today is Christmas Eve Eve. It's the last "normal" day before the Christmas festivities begin. It's the last day to buy a tub of gingerbread cookie dough, a bag of holiday potpourri, one of those plastic candy-canes filled with Hershey's Kisses, or a tree skirt that doesn't smell like cat piss (Although, I'm currently drafting a petition to instate cat piss as the new "official" smell of Christmas. Watch out, cinnamon and pine!).

Yes, this is it--the last day to shop--unless, of course, you're one of those pitiful freaks who shops on Christmas Eve (Hey losers, don't you have a FAMILY? Get out of Wal-Mart!). So I wasn't too shocked to find a surging horde of human desperation and anguish when I ventured to Meijer to pick up dog and cat toys (even though they have no concept of time and certainly no awareness of holidays, it seems pretty cruel to leave them out of the gift-giving fun seeing as their entire lives revolve around making us feel cozy and loved), Meijer-brand Ultra Healing Therapy Lotion with Aloe, Diet Coke, Edy's Grape-flavored Fruit Bars, toilet paper, and Nestle Toll House Ultimates Turtle Cookies.

While shopping, I witnessed a grandma and grandpa being held at knife point by a rag-tag gang of camo-vest wearing philatelists over the last package of French's French Fried Onions, two puffy coat-clad ladies with jam-handed tots in tow tousling over a Christmas gourd painted to look like an old fashioned Santa, a three legged service dog wearing a jaunty felt elf hat healing the infirm with his magic saliva, and a partridge in a pear tree doing a spot-on impersonation of Jerry Seinfeld. No, but seriously, while I was waiting in line to buy my items, this one old lady yelled at this other old lady and the old lady that got yelled at got her feelings hurt! I don't know why people can't just be kind to one another, especially around the holidays. I mean, I know there are some people who just don't deserve kindness, but if you can't fake it at Christmas when can you fake it?

My main motivation for shopping on this, the last normal day to shop before Christmas, was to stockpile my house with delicious food items so that, should I get a hankerin' for something during Christmas Eve and Christmas when my supply dries up (due to Wal-Mart and Meijer closing so that their staff can enjoy the holiday...which is maybe a little more than they deserve if you ask me...but I digress), I can still stuff my face full of the goodies and treats to which I have become addicted. After I went to Meijer, I had to go to Wal-Mart, because Meijer didn't have the Nestle Toll House Limited Edition Oatmeal Scotchies that I had decided I could not celebrate Christmas without. Also, Meijer had the Edy's Grape-flavored Fruit Bars, but not the Peach-flavored ones. And for some inexplicable reason, Meijer doesn't carry the Chef Boyardee Mini ABC's & 123's with Meatballs, but Wal-Mart does. It's cool though, you guys, because in between Wal-Mart and Meijer is Starbucks where I went through the drive-thru and got a Grande Peppermint Mocha and paid for it using a gift card I won at a holiday party after a lively game of Family Feud.

Food is a hugely important part of Christmas, especially when food is your crack, as it is mine. Nothing strikes as much fear into the heart of a food junkie as the notion of Meijer and Wal-Mart being closed for a day and a half. What if I run out of Weight Watchers Smart Ones Anytime Selections Pepperoni Pizza Minis?! What if my tin of Planters Pumpkin Spice Almonds is only half-full?! If your Christmas can survive a catastrophe like that, well, you're a stronger person than I am.

I'm happy to say, I made it out of Wal-Mart and Meijer with all my coveted food items and only one less finger than I had going in. Now I'm going to settle in for a Christmas filled with love, family, presents, music, laughter, and of course, a steaming bowl of Hillshire Farm Lit'l Smokies Smoked Sausages. All I ask of you during this holiday season is to treat each other with kindness, remember the children, and for the love of St. Nick, keep your hands off my New York Brand The Original Garlic Bread Sticks.

Gathering Pressures: Part One

Cooking for large groups has never been my strong point. I have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew....pun intended. I break the cardinal rule of "never cook a new recipe for the first time for a dinner party" pretty much...every single time I cook for people. Past attempts at entertaining have led to very late meals, an inability to socialize with guests, wasted food from dishes I abandon at the last minute, and many, many tears.

I nearly had a nervous breakdown about mashed potatoes the first time I cooked Thanksgiving dinner. I made three appetizers, planned to make five or six side dishes, a special mulled spiked cider, turkey, rolls, the whole shebang.  Sounds great, right?  It would've been had I known to do ANYTHING in advance. I think I did a few things the night before but...yeah...not nearly as much as I should have. So when dinner was already an hour and a half late and I hadn't even started the mashed potatoes (and I mean wash, peel, chop, boil water, cook, mash, season, etc.), I broke down. I literally crumbled into a pathetic, apron-clad sobbing mess. Fortunately, my dad came to the rescue, consoled me, made me laugh and took over mashed potato duty. My mom and sister were already busy trying to finish the deviled eggs that were meant to be served two hours earlier but weren't because I didn't even have the eggs hard boiled before people showed up. Seriously. What was I thinking?!

Needless to say I learned a lot with that first dinner party (but not enough to not be an hour late to Thanksgiving this year because I completely underestimated the time it would take to make a Celery Root and Squash Gratin with Walnut-Thyme Struesel...for the first time. See? Told you I never learn). Oh, and did I mention I had never cooked for more than two people before that first Thanksgiving? I'm very ambitious...sometimes to my own detriment.  There were only eight people there but, for me, two to eight was a huge leap.  This was obviously my biggest concern when I look back at the menu I planned.  Who in their right mind would think making five or six complicated side dishes for eight people was a good idea? Me, apparently.

Subsequent dinner parties have ranged in success from "the timing was better" and "the meat wasn't too burned" to "I think everyone really enjoyed the risotto" and "that pan gravy was fantastic!"  I am by no means an accomplished dinner party thrower but my cooking and planning skills have certainly improved over the years.  I've even had fleeting moments of real kitchen confidence. So where does one semi-skilled, kinda experienced, sort of home cook go from here? To catering my sister-in-law's bridal shower of course!  Ain't no thang.

I was flattered and excited when my mother-in-law, Beth, asked me if I'd be interested in putting together an Italian-themed lunch for Megan's shower. It was scheduled for mid-July at a charming, old farmhouse that had been converted to a tea room in Canton, Michigan, which is only about 20 minutes away from where I live. I didn't know how many guests were expected but I estimated around 15 to 20.  That was a little daunting seeing as how I still had only cooked for a maximum of eight people since that chaotic first Thanksgiving. But, I had a little more than two months to plan and was up to the challenge, so I got to work.

Anyone that knows me or has ever gone out to dinner with me knows that I have a bit of a problem making decisions.  Not because I'm picky, but because I want to eat everything.  If I'm reading a menu and something strikes my fancy, you can be assured the next dish described will have me drooling even more.  Every consecutive menu item I read will have an exponential effect on my salivary glands until I eventually come full circle to that first thing that sounded so good and convince myself I should just leave because nothing I get is going to make me happy.

Of course I don't leave because at this point I'm so hungry that the idea of leaving is equivalent to torture...plus it would be rude...and probably highly inconvenient.  What if I rode with someone else to the restaurant? They probably don't want to leave so I'm stuck having to sit in the car until they're finished and then have to deal with the disapproving looks and silent questions of my mental stability on the shame-filled ride home. Umm...no thanks. So I mop up my puddle of drool with my crisp folded napkin and order. And, if I'm out to eat with Jason and my sister, I order, second guess my decision, convince Jason to hunt down the waitress, and change my order to what my sister ordered. And, if we're eating at Gratzi in Ann Arbor and I wait too long to decide to change my order and hunt down the waitress, they'll bring me both meals I ordered and I'll feel really stupid.

You're probably wondering where all of this is going. Well...if I have this much trouble deciding what I want to order at a restaurant, imagine my dismay at choosing recipes to form a cohesive and delicious menu for a very important event for a very special person with the only factor narrowing my focus being Italian. Oh, and with some sort of vegetarian option. Before long I was knee deep in recipe ideas and discarded menus I was hanging on to "just in case" and I realized I had to have some other constraints. No sooner did the wish form than the constraints came raining down from the catering constraint rain cloud. As plans have a tendency of doing, our bridal shower plans changed...completely.

You see, Megan and her now husband, John, live in Arizona. The wedding and reception took place in Arizona at a beautiful church and country club with picturesque mountain views. In fact most of the wedding events took place in Arizona but Megan still wanted to travel back to her home state of Michigan to make it easier for friends and family to take part in some of the wedding traditions such as dress shopping, bridal showers, etc. And she did just that. We shopped for her gown, cried when we saw her in it, laughed at the ridiculous bridesmaid dresses we tried on and exuded glamorous confidence in the bridesmaid dress she chose. They were lovely visits. Unfortunately, Megan's planned trek to Michigan in July for her shower had to be canceled, but for good reason.  She was starting a new job!  We still had a wonderful bridal shower in Michigan.  But it had to be planned in two weeks, not two months, which was definitely not enough time to put together the event we were planning. Not to worry though.  I was about to take on a much greater challenge: a bridal shower...in Arizona.

There is way too much to this experience to squeeze it all into one post, so you will be reading the rest of the story in one or two more (depending on how carried away I get). But I will leave you with a description of my newly designed challenge complete with constraints galore.  In a nutshell:

Plan an Italian vegetarian dinner menu (the shower was now planned for 6:30) for 30 people, cook everything in your sister-in-law's kitchen (which you've never seen) with little to no knowledge of the kitchen equipment available and transfer everything to the apartment complex clubhouse where the shower will be held.  Once at the clubhouse, you will have access to a fridge and a sink but there will be no oven or microwave...aka you better make sure the food you make tastes good at room temperature or cold because there's no way you're reheating it (we had already decided against chafing dishes and sterno in an effort to save a little money).

Suddenly, the dinner with too many possibilities had rapidly become Dinner: Impossible and I needed to start channeling my inner Robert Irvine.  Robert would never let a challenge get the best of him. He would pick up a cast iron skillet with those bulging arms of his and cook an 18-course meal for 100 people over an open fire from ingredients foraged from the surrounding area like it was just another day at the office. Certainly, I could handle cooking in someone else's kitchen.

And handle it I did, although there were definitely moments of sheer panic. To calm myself I just closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pretended Robert was giving me a good old-fashioned "keep your chin up kiddo" hug that chefs are always giving each other. Yeah, when chefs aren't cooking they're hugging. I know. It was news to me too. But, it's kind of sweet don't you think?

The rush of the kitchen dies down and every cook drops his or her spatula and embraces their neighbor for a nice 5-minute hug and, if their lucky, maybe even an Eskimo kiss or two. Those imaginary hugs from Robert are what kept me going in the face of catering terror. In my mind I was being enveloped by an over-sized Yorkshire pudding...hard and crusty on the outside...warm, gooey and British on the inside. I realize this may seem a little unorthodox but every chef has a way of dealing with the inevitable pressures and challenges of cooking. Being hugged by a humungous savory baked good to which I give human characteristics just works for me ok? Don't judge.