Going to a dinner party this weekend? Then read this to stay on the right side of your host...
Don’t be early (but don’t be on time either)
By J Bryan Lowder
During my student years, there was only one entertaining rule: Parties should be publicised as starting at 9pm, but no one should actually come before 10.30.
Most people naturally grasped this implicit guideline, but a few times, certain clue-lackers would arrive right-on-freaking-time. They would be allowed to stay that night (we weren’t monsters, after all), but future invitations were not forthcoming.
Avoid the fate of those sad souls – come with me as we study the art of timing and dispel the vagaries of the well-executed arrival.
To start with, an easy but surprisingly abused rule: NEVER be early. Though other timing considerations apply differently to different kinds of events, this one is universal.
A vignette for demonstration: You are preparing a dinner party for eight, which, because you are civilised, is meant to start at eight. Because you are what people call an ambitious cook, you are running just a bit behind.
Things are generally under control, but you need every last second to get to a point where you can finish up the cooking while being charming with your guests at the same time (no easy feat).
Then, at 7:45, a knock at the door. Your startled body jerks, causing you to fling the bowl of Spanish olives you’ve prepared as a cocktail nibble across the kitchen floor. Cursing quietly, you sweep up the oily orbs as best you can and hide the mess in the pantry
Who the hell thought it was a good idea to show up 15 minutes early?
“It’s Betty,” a muffled voice reveals. You glare at Betty through the peep hole.
“Why Sally,” she practically sings when you open the door, a strained smile plastered to your face, “I know I’m early, but I thought you might need some help. Put me to work!”
Now totally thrown off your game, you can think of a few places you’d like to put Betty, and to work is not one of them.
Moral of the story? If your host wanted you to be there at 7.45pm to “help”, he would have said so. Don’t be presumptuous.
That doesn’t mean you should arrive right on time, either. I realise this will be controversial in some quarters, but my firm belief is that a dinner, cocktail or house party or even an overnight guest should arrive late on purpose – but only a little.
If you have hosted any function in this realm, you will know that an extra 10-20 minutes is always appreciated. Perhaps there was a time in the past when hostesses sat waiting in their perfectly clean parlours 10 minutes to curtain, smoothing the wrinkles from their gowns and worrying that the candles might not last the evening, but that is no longer the case. Modern entertainers – those work-life-balancing angels who still muster the strength to be generous – need every moment they can get to finish up the cooking, neatening, and ambiance-orchestrating, so do them a favour and dawdle a bit before ringing the bell.
But notice that I said only a little. Past the 30-minute mark and you move into risky territory, especially if there are other guests in attendance.
A few extra moments for cocktails and greetings before dinner will never be a burden to anyone, but if the food is ready and you are still “5 minutes away!” and already 45 minutes late, you have become, well, rude.
Of course, more informal cocktail/house parties will be more flexible in this regard (there’s usually less “won’t-you-please-sit-down?” punctuation), but, if you’re dealing with people who have lives, arriving at 11 for a party that should end by midnight is pushing it.
An easy way to remember all this? Do be late for the party, but, as in all matters of elegance, not too much. – Slate/ The Washington Post News Service
Please refrain from trying to help me cook
By LV Anderson
I enjoy cooking. My friends also enjoy cooking. Indeed, I have pleasantly whiled away the hours with intimates by searing Brussels sprouts while sipping kirs and debating whether there’s enough lime in the guacamole while sipping rum and Cokes. However, all of these gatherings had two things in common: They were prearranged (as in, we decided in advance that we wanted to cook together), and they were small (as in, there were two or three of us, and we weren’t expecting more guests).
But I have far less pleasant memories of other occasions spent in the kitchen with friends – sweaty times, stressful times, times when the alcohol was not sipped but guzzled to ward off a panic attack. I’m talking about the times I’ve hosted dinner parties, and my friends have uttered the dread words: “Oh, I’ll come over early to help you cook!”
We’ve already discussed the grave affront that arriving early represents to hosts, but it is the offer of assistance that truly strikes fear into my heart.
Why? Well, honestly, I’m kind of a control freak. I plan my menus days in advance. I usually write up a schedule for myself, too, figuring out which dishes I can prep or cook in full the day before, what I can do the morning of, what needs to be saved for the last minute. Paying such close attention to minutiae soothes me.
The schedule and my peace-of-mind go out the window the second my first early-bird friend walks in the door. Suddenly she is saying, “What can I do to help?”, and since my itinerary did not take this eager labourer into account, I never know what to say. And thus the tabbouleh ends up being made too far in advance and just sits there getting watery, or the frittata gets burnt while I’m explaining how thickly I wanted the eggplant to be sliced, or I completely forget to chop up the strawberries for dessert sauce because I’m distracted by the need to serve my premature guest the precise cocktail he desires.
Then there is the fact that the kitchen is tiny. No joke. One time, I decided to see how many people could cram in my kitchen simultaneously – two if we wanted to be able to open the refrigerator door, three if we didn’t. You get the idea: There’s not much space, and there’s only one cutting board, which means that though my friends think they are being helpful by peeling garlic, they are in fact impeding me from completing other time-sensitive tasks.
Laura, why do you even have dinner parties, I hear you thinking. It doesn’t sound like you like your friends very much. Ah, but I do like my friends! I like them so much that I want to spend lots of money and umpteen hours of my time to make them a delicious, varied meal and furnish them with a comfortable environment in which to drink and be merry.
But when they come over early to “help”, they make it difficult for me to do that. I want my friends to be comfortable, but when I’m trying to figure out whether I should make the cake batter or start sautéing the onions first, it’s hard for me to attend to their needs.
I want to provide my friends with sparkling conversation, but when I’m torn between checking on the contents of the oven and those of the food processor, it’s hard for me to return their repartee. I want to listen to my friends’ problems, but when the blender is on and the tofu is hissing noisily in the pan, it’s hard for me to hear.
In other words, it’s not only better for the meal and for my mental health if my friends stay home until the designated start time – it’s better for our relationship.
So please, the next time I invite you to a dinner party, don’t show up early with an apron in tow. A fashionably late arrival and a bottle of wine will do just fine. – Slate / The Washington Post News Service