Hostess Hero
My friend Katie is, objectively, the best hostess ever. She has been this way since she was about fourteen. I'm not going to go into too much detail, but early in her high school career she managed to throw a sick party in the middle of the night in the middle of the woods in the middle of New England when she was supposed to be in the middle of doing something much more mundane like...sleeping or doing homework. And she didn't get caught. And either did any of the 20 something other teenagers who attended this soiree. She once had a huge bash at her parents' house, never mind the fact that she talked them into letting this happen, and the septic system failed. One of our friends got poison ivy, um, everywhere, and this friend STILL talks about how much fun this party was.
The best part about her mad hostess skills is that she makes every guest feel completely at ease. She must, behind the scenes and with a degree of organization that could only be dizzying for the rest of us mere mortals, prepare like a maniac before any event: lunch, brunch, dinner, party, impromptu tailgate, sleepover for 15 pre-adolescent girls (my head hurts just thinking about it). But you'd never know it. I think her trick must be that she, herself, always seems at ease. Come to think of it, the only time I have ever seen her ill at ease is when she has, rarely, because who would dare, been confronted with one of those obnoxiously pompous people who have to make themselves feel powerful by being purposely rude. And that was once. In high school. Over twenty years ago.
The hostess with the mostest has set the bar pretty high, and the WRH still has a long way to go. This might not be a journey that the WRH has the stamina for, but fortunately, my friend is kind enough to a) orchestrate events that I can sometimes attend (that sounds weird, like sometimes she'll let me come, but not always because I'm such a scrub...but that's not what I meant. She lives a few hours away) and b) tell me how she does stuff.
To wit: The Barefoot Contessa cookbooks. No weird Martha Stewart-like catalogs of bizarre and impossible to find ingredients like saffron minced between the teeth of sterile camels who've been raised on black currants and tupelo honey. The recipes are very straightforward and so, so good. Try the filet of beef and the spinach gratin, and the chocolate ganache cake will ruin you for any other dessert for a month.
The best part about her mad hostess skills is that she makes every guest feel completely at ease. She must, behind the scenes and with a degree of organization that could only be dizzying for the rest of us mere mortals, prepare like a maniac before any event: lunch, brunch, dinner, party, impromptu tailgate, sleepover for 15 pre-adolescent girls (my head hurts just thinking about it). But you'd never know it. I think her trick must be that she, herself, always seems at ease. Come to think of it, the only time I have ever seen her ill at ease is when she has, rarely, because who would dare, been confronted with one of those obnoxiously pompous people who have to make themselves feel powerful by being purposely rude. And that was once. In high school. Over twenty years ago.
The hostess with the mostest has set the bar pretty high, and the WRH still has a long way to go. This might not be a journey that the WRH has the stamina for, but fortunately, my friend is kind enough to a) orchestrate events that I can sometimes attend (that sounds weird, like sometimes she'll let me come, but not always because I'm such a scrub...but that's not what I meant. She lives a few hours away) and b) tell me how she does stuff.
To wit: The Barefoot Contessa cookbooks. No weird Martha Stewart-like catalogs of bizarre and impossible to find ingredients like saffron minced between the teeth of sterile camels who've been raised on black currants and tupelo honey. The recipes are very straightforward and so, so good. Try the filet of beef and the spinach gratin, and the chocolate ganache cake will ruin you for any other dessert for a month.
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