I have always wondered how someone can come up with a plain but wonderful meal. I will never forget the dinners at Steve's and Nicole's house. You had to eat, just before arriving, to keep your stomach from waking their children as they slept. The table was set so elegantly with real silverware rolled in cloth napkins, candles, flowers, placemats, the whole works!
At just the right time (when each of you had finished your carrot stick hors d'oeuvre) you would walk from the front room like a bride down the aisle, slowly and respectfully, to the table and take your place. Then the serving plate would make its appearance from the kitchen and on it would be the minimum daily requirement per person of food needed to sustain life; and you would be instructed which portion was yours (according to your height and weight and size of carrot stick you just ate). Dessert was usually something light and health-provoking, like a spoonful of yogurt topped with a raisin.
In contrast to the food, the wine was served in abundance. Once, having consumed too much wine on a near-empty stomach, I mistakenly ate my silverware and napkin roll thinking it was a crepe that had slipped off my plate.
Despite its sparseness, the food seemed to be perfect and the setting absolutely elegant. There was none of the carnival-like atmosphere that prevails at my home. The object there is to see how many things I can get on the table before it collapses. After four hours of non-stop sipping, nibbling, dunking, dipping, chewing, chomping, slurping, licking, biting, swirling and crunching, my guests waddle to their cars and try to get in and drive home with half their clothes open or off.
Limitations? I operate without them. When I plan a menu, I start by writing down all the things I enjoy eating or fixing and then try to narrow it down through elimination. But it seems as if every item is carved in stone and I just can't erase them.
Even on a daily basis I run into problems. The appliances I
have to make my life easier because I can make a dinner in one third of
the time, just don't help. What happens is now I can make
three dinners in the time it took me to make just one. When a full-blown
occasion such as Easter rolls around, it can be a real fiasco. Knowing that I
have such trouble with just simple dinner times, I employed the help of
my children for the Easter dinner planning. Or, more to the truth,
they cornered me and inquired:
"Well, Mom, what are you up to these days?"
"Oh, just planning my Easter menu."
"So I see. Twelve cookbooks. Quite impressive."
"Well, I was thinking about a nice little ham and some
sweet potatoes, a few mashed potatoes, sweet-sour cabbage, and a
vegetable or two. But no salad. Nope, there will be no salad."
Knowing me, they pressed on.
"No salad, huh? Is there anything else though?"
"Well, you know Mike and his mom will be here.
They're Ukrainians and I thought it would be nice to have a few
traditional things. Maybe some peroghy, horseradish beets, polish sausage
and sauerkraut. Yes, and some fresh mushroom gravy."
"Not to pry, Mother, but is there anyone else coming? You
know, Italians, Japanese, Mexicans, French?"
"No. But I did get this fresh turkey yesterday and I thought I'd
just throw that in the oven with a little stuffing so we'd have meat
for sandwiches during the week."
"Mom, we don't even have enough dishes to hold all that food.
Come on now!"
"All right, all right, I won't make the sauerkraut."
I knew it was too much, but I so thoroughly enjoyed the thought of cooking all this wonderful food I didn't allow for reality. Finally I let the kids whittle down the menu until we agreed on the Ukrainian fare (since we could all work together on rolling and stuffing and boiling those sweet little peroghys — 150 of them in all!), and the ham and polish sausage (they thought I had only one link, ha, ha, ha), and the vegetables — I could have two vegetables (plus the beets because "I went out special to get them"). I had to surrender everything else — especially my turkey. The object of all of this honing was to help me enjoy the meal without crying half way through the day that I'm so tired and I still have all this stuff to do — that's how my `wonderful ideas' usually turn out.
Their efforts were not in vain; it truly worked. On Easter morning we had most of the dinner ready, just needing to be put in bowls and heated. I felt well rested and raring to go from a good night's sleep, and was anticipating a wonderful Easter dinner... so while the kids were at church I quickly made up some stuffing and popped the turkey in the oven...then I cut up some potatoes and made a salad.
I'm not sure who all showed up at the table for Easter dinner — you couldn't see over the food. After dishes were done I asked, "Who's ready for dessert? We have an almond strudel, a raisin-nut ring, apple pie, some brownies, ......."