Category Archives: Party! Party!
Ice wine harvest endangered!
Up to now I’ve been somewhat agnostic on the causes of global warming, but this news has decided the issue for me. Something must be done! Apparently the late frost up north this year has imperiled the frozen grape harvest that produces ice wines.
Now, if you’re not familiar with these lovely offerings, you can read all about them here. Or you can just rely on my unscientific summary, which is as follows: certain grapes are allowed to freeze on the vine, then are harvested and made into sweet wines. They’re pricey, but they come in small bottles and you’re supposed to sip rather than swill them, so the occasional splurge (dinner for the boss, entertaining George Clooney, intentionally pissing off your mother-in-law with your spendthrift ways) is okay. They can be drunk with dinner or dessert, but I like them paired with cheeses. Think special appetizers or a cheese course between the meal and the dessert. Or, if you’re entertaining non-sweet eaters, this is the perfect thing to serve in place of dessert.
Pairing ice wine with food can be tricky, but the good folks at Inniskillin Winery have gone to great trouble to lay it all out for you. If you’ve never tried it, don’t be put off by the sweetness of the wine — it’s the perfect counterbalance to cheeses, from mild to stinky. Trust me, you’ll never ruin a perfectly good gorgonzola with a glass of Cabernet again.
Hey party people! How ’bout a snack?
Give 'em a finger!
In my family there are two traditional party foods, items without which we cannot mark life’s great events: births, deaths, marriages, conditional releases, the Superbowl, what have you. Obviously I’m talking about deviled eggs and finger rolls. And although they have been disparagingly referred to as retch & puke, the evil twins, trough fodder, and Oh-Christ-not-that-shite-again by my nearest and dearest, I would like to point out that at any given family gathering (from wakes to commitment hearings), the trays are always empty long before the fighting starts.
I won’t lie, I love ‘em both. Partly it’s a nostalgia thing; the sight of a bridal gown or a bail bondsman just automatically triggers a yen for a ham salad roll. But there are also practical considerations, primarily that ingesting large quantities of protein, mayo and bread gives you an unshakable foundation for an extended drinking binge, and my people tend to be all-occasion tipplers.
Finger Rolls
Finger WAVES ccourtesy pinneduphair.blogspot.com
In the 1960s (I have heard) finger sandwiches were the height of party chic, a glamorous staple of la dolce vita American style. Finger rolls, not to be confused with finger waves, lend themselves to a variety of fillings: crab, lobster, chicken, egg or ham salad are the usual suspects. Anything else is considered “ethnic food” by my folks, so we don’t serve liverwurst, cream cheese and olive or anything more exotic than protein and mayonnaise with the odd pinch of pepper. But if you like to walk on the wide side, you can slip a little pineapple in with the ham or a little tarragon with the chicken. Improvise ferchrissakes, as my Grandpa Harvey used to say (usually right before he said, “Who the hell ate all the crab rolls, ferchrissakes?”).
Deviled Eggs
Just like Mom used to make, courtesy mixedgreensblog.com
Now, before you turn up your foodie nose, let me assure you that a tray of deviled eggs at a party goes faster than tissues in Whitney Houston’s dressing room. I swear, people LOVE them. Of course recipes vary, but I tend to be a bit of a purist. Boil those bad boys up, slice ‘em in half, scoop out the yolk, chop up a couple of whites (you can leave this out, but I like it this way), mix in some mayo, mustard, salt and pepper and mound it up. I don’t hold with adding curry powder, onions or suchlike, but if you feel the need to tart them up with a little smoked salmon or even a shrimp, have at it. I do shake a little paprika over the tops just for color.
I’m having fun already!
On an unrelated note, Delta joins Dieter’s Dance Party
Happy as a little girl? Oh yes.
This has nothing to do with food and is only tangentially related to drink (in that I consumed a huge amount in a fairly short period of time), but I feel the need to share. Yesterday I spent rather longer than anticipated in the company of Delta Airlines and its minions owing to an “equipment malfunction.” During the FIVE HOUR DELAY that resulted from a TOILET EMERGENCY on board, I had lots of time to contemplate the sartorial splendor of the flight crew, which I found to be especially effective in taking my mind off the implications of flying on a plane that had just been serviced and certified as “flight ready” by a staff who couldn’t even fix the fucking thrones. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating, thank God for the portable bar.
Anyways, during the enforced confinement — first on the tarmac, then at the Minneapolis airport (I was CONNECTING not visiting, OK?) — I couldn’t help but notice that the Delta flight crews seem to have been styled by none other than Dieter himself. In fact, to the discerning eye it was apparent that the all male stew crew were refugees from the chorus of Sprockets. Cropped hair, meticulously sculpted facial fungus, and turtlenecks (often WITH vests!) as far as the eye could see. Now I couldn’t say whether the entertainment value was intentional, but it certainly came in handy. I don’t think I asked any of the boys to pat my monkey, but then again, my recall of what went down after about the third hour is still hazy at best.
In any case, I finally got where I was going and will leave you with the following: Screw you Delta Airlines. Strong protest to follow.
Now’s the time we dance.
Ready or Not, Here It Comes!
Fill the larder and provision the pantry. Christmas is almost here and Hanukkah is already upon us. I’m assuming Kwanzaa is lurking out there as well, but have never been entirely clear on the dates for that. With all that peace, joy and love in the offing, as well as lots of holiday house guests preparing to infest your already Christmas-crap filled home, I thought this would be a good time to share some of the insights, tricks and tips I’ve gathered over the years to make your holidays as fun-filled and festive as my own.
G’night John Boy. Merry Christmas, Mama!
Just kidding. Here’s the real story:
- Abandon hope. Do not expect the next ten days to be anything other than one long series of agonizing scenes punctuated by screaming arguments, uncomfortable silences, outrageous behavior and gluttonous overindulgence, ultimately giving way to hysteria-induced nervous prostration – unless of course you married into the Waltons or one of those goofy musical families, and I have my suspicions about what was going on up on that mountain. I mean really, John Boy?
- Lower your expectations. If on January 2, you are still alive and listed in the will, it’s a win. You can focus on dealing with the weight gain, cirrhosis and hair loss later. That’s why God invented residential treatment.
- Stock up now. Stuff your refrigerator and cupboard with as much food and drink as you can possibly manage. Hang up a “Self-Serve” sign on both.
- Hide all candles, matches, blow torches, Krazy Glue and lab equipment. If I need to explain why, you may want to consider booking your neuro-psych evaluation sooner rather than later.
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Just in case and mind the sphincter. Courtesy patient.co.uk
Buy a stomach pump (assuming of course you don’t already have one) and write down the poison control number somewhere you can find it, like on the back of your hand with a sharpie. Again, self-explanatory. File it under better safe than medevac-ed.
- Make sure all insurance policies are paid up and in effect.
- And as always, stock the bar.
That should about do it. Any tips you’d care to share?
Start your 2012 Right! Rachel vs Guy: Celebrity Cook-Off
Ah New Year’s Day, that wonderful celebration of new beginnings, hangover ministrations, formal apologies, stomach pumps and bail hearings. Following as it does on the heels of what my family fondly calls amateur night, January first is steeped in homespun tradition, most of which centers around stepping over the moaning carcasses of relatives, friends and complete strangers strewn around the living room and desperately trying to warm themselves at the flat screen. But it’s also about disconsolately sipping Alka Seltzer between trips to the powder room and coping with the mortification and shame that accompany each flashback of the night before.
courtesy foodnetwork.com
And then, of course, there are resolutions to be contemplated, made and almost immediately abandoned. What’s mine? you ask. Well, in addition to losing those pesky last thirty pounds (plateauing at two is such a bitch) and giving my liver the occasional day off, I’ve vowed to watch each and every episode of Rachel vs. Guy: Celebrity Cook-Off. The January first premier is perfect timing; I’ll already be nauseated before it even begins! Read the rest of this entry
Kitchen Slattern 