Dispatches from the Luncheon Front

 

The luncheon of which I spoke yesterday when I shared the table setting with you had quite a rocky beginning. While the food turned out beautifully (eventually), getting there was another matter entirely. Oh, boy.  In the days leading up to it, I kept my son apprised of my progress through a series of texts. Looking back at them, I realized they documented what can only be described as a culinary comedy of errors. From cheesecake mishaps and runaway pie weights to spilled margaritas, questionable candles, and a cat with absolutely no regard for my schedule, things went downhill with remarkable efficiency. Rather than let these dispatches disappear into the abyss of my text messages, I thought I’d share them. Consider this a cautionary tale about entertaining at home.

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Thursday

 1:55 PM: I’m sort of in a desperately panicked state about my luncheon on Saturday. I had expected to be a lot further ahead than I am, underestimating the fact it would take me a half a day to make the cheesecake! And then, it slid out of my hands, and I nearly dropped it. As it is, I ended up banging the Bain Marie pan on the counter and that cracked it a bit so now I’ve got to pipe whipped cream over the top. Something I hadn’t anticipated.

Friday

 8:15 AM: The cheesecake saga continues. I couldn’t get it out of the springform pan. I have never had this happen, ever. I was shaking that sucker like you wouldn’t believe. Finally, I got it out of there, now to cover the evidence. I hope all of the food doesn’t go like this.

 8:50 AM: Welp. My luck continues. I made the margaritas, used up the last of my triple sec (had enough, but barely), and nearly all of my tequila. Fortunately, I had plenty of brandy, and seriously considered taking a swig, ignoring the fact that it was not yet 9 AM. I put it in a pitcher that I like to use. It has a nice tightly fitting pourable lid. I opened the refrigerator door and went to set it down on top of the egg keeper that has a sliding glass door, perfect for setting things while you’re rearranging the fridge, so that I could make room in the door of the fridge to store the margaritas. Much to my surprise, the egg door was open, so I ended up cracking two eggs and had to clean that mess up. Then when I went to put the pitcher of margaritas in the door, because the pitcher was so full, I tipped it and it poured all down in front of me and onto the floor, so I had that sticky mess to clean up and trod in for the rest of the day. Why am I doing this?

 10:50 AM: Things started to go smoothly. I put on a new CD of 60s music and was dancing around the kitchen while I was making the gingerbread muffins. Didn’t realize that I had dropped some flour onto the floor, stepped in it with my fuzzy slipper, and nearly did the splits right in the kitchen. I think maybe I’ve pulled a hamstring.

11:26 AM: Things are picking up. I got the crust for the Neiman-Marcus quiche made without a hitch. It can be prepared a day ahead of time (according to ChatGPT). It has to be baked lined with parchment paper and pie weights. I got the pie weights from Williams-Sonoma. They were jammed into a plastic container that I decided to reuse. The thing is, I can never get them jammed back in there, so have to tether it together with big rubber bands. When I took the rubber bands off this morning, two pie weights shot out. One caromed off the pantry door and into the hallway. Stanley spotted the other and batted it behind the stove. At least I’m still standing.

 12:05 PM: Gingerbread muffin prep went well, which makes me immediately suspicious. I’ll let you know. Again, ChatGPT told me I could make these a day ahead and gently warm them in the oven tomorrow. That artificial bastard had better not be lying to me.

 12:30 PM: With all I have going on today, I do not need Stanley driving me crazy, but he is. He is still not used to the time change, demanding his dinner after only just having had breakfast two hours before. I tried to explain it to him, but he’s just not having it.

 12:35 PM: Gave in to Stanley.

 12:40 PM: The gingerbread muffins look marvelous! I quickly photographed them for the blog. I’ll be tasting them soon. I’ll let you know.

 12:42 PM: Stanley sniffed his dinner and walked away. That cat owns me.

 12:45 PM: I decided to take a break, get off of my feet, and read a chapter or 2 in my book. I thought I'd get fancy and light a candle that I found downstairs from a previous year — glass pumpkin with a lid and a poured candle inside. Charming, no? About 10 minutes later I smelled a gas leak. Apparently that was the fragrance of the candle. I discovered that after I had sniffed myself senseless trying to figure out where the gas leak was coming from. The candle —-> trash.

 2:05 PM: Put my feet up and now enjoying the other half of the gingerbread muffin along with a latte in which I poured this morning’s considered brandy. Got the whipped cream piped on the cheesecake. Eh. It doesn’t look fabulous. I sprinkled it with crushed ginger snaps and that did not help with the lack of fabulocity. Hope it tastes good. Turned around and noticed what appeared to be white footprints on the floor. I recognized the tread (probably from watching all those crime shows). Apparently, I had stepped in dropped whipped cream and then tracked it all over the kitchen. Something else to wipe up. I thought this sounded unbelievable, so I photographed the bottom of my shoe. Attached.

3:20 PM: Still working. Lettuce from outdoors picked. Ironing finished, iron and ironing board put away. Ate some lunch too quickly; nauseated.

6:10 PM: Spent much of the afternoon on the heating pad, lying across the bed due to the stomach cramps from (presumably) the bagged salad. (I know, I know, those things are poison.) I’ve revamped my meal entirely. I am axing the spinach Madeleine and the carrots, replacing with green beans almandine, and instead of serving buffet style I’m going to make up plates. That’s the best I can do. Ugh.

Saturday

8:15 AM: Completely exhausted. Forgot to clean the guest bath. I went in there with a bucket of Pine-Sol and a scrub brush, and washed it down like a latrine in a penitentiary.

10:35 AM: I don’t feel ready, but I suppose I am. Time for a preemptive strike with a margarita. I didn’t even taste those yesterday.

10:45 AM: Margarita good.

5:25 PM: Guests arrived late thinking the arrival time was a half an hour beyond what it actually was. That put a bit of a wrench into food service — the quiche was a bit overdone — but what could I do? Everything tasted good (as good as it tastes when you’re hosting and can’t taste anything — that can often be a blessing), but the most important part is we had fun…for a while. Stomach cramps returned with a vengeance (damn you bagged salad!) and I sent them home early with cheesecake to go. Ugh.

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And that, my friends, is how I spent the days leading up to my luncheon. I eventually got the house cleaned, the food prepared, and everyone fed. The luncheon itself was lovely, and the food was, if I do say so myself, quite good. But I have to wonder whether it was worth the price of admission. Between the cheesecake, the margaritas, the airborne pie weights, the suspicious candle, and the whipped cream crime scene (Don’t get me started on the abdominal cramps), I think I’ve earned a little time off from entertaining. At least until I forget all of this and decide to do it again. Because, apparently, I never learn.