How to Host a Dinner Party (21 page)

Just before serving dessert, I’ll often ask if anyone would like a cup. Except for a few who have requested decaf (which is to coffee what white chocolate is to chocolate), I’ve had exactly two people say yes.

Often coffee drinking is not about the gastronomic experience. The markers we use to discuss and grade coffee — aroma, balance, acidity, sweetness, finish — are a smokescreen for the normalized abuse of stimulants. It’s about getting high. And getting high is usually about avoiding reality. Talk to any recovering addict and they’ll tell you that their use was about escaping bad times and prolonging good times. In the morning, we drink coffee to change our perception of an unpleasant reality — that we are tired but we must work. After dinner, if we drink coffee it is because we’re enjoying the company of friends, so we look for an excuse to extend that experience.

There is a sublime sense of closure to coffee at the end of a huge meal, when most of us are sleepy and a little espresso isn’t going to keep us up (though it will likely result in a less restful sleep). I usually find that at the end of a good dinner party, around 11 p.m., a group will stay talking for an extra hour, with nothing more to eat or drink. Culturally, in North America, coffee is no longer an expectation. I don’t know anyone who will drink decaffeinated coffee, but if you do, it’s little trouble to keep a small batch in the freezer.

“A modern meal,” writes Adam Gopnik, “is a drama unfolding between the Opening Drink and the Concluding Coffee, with the several acts passing between the libations.” In his essay “Who Made the Restaurant?” he adds, “French cooking was made not merely in the space between caffeine and alcohol but in the simultaneous presence of both, thus blending, in sequence, the two drugs by which modern people shape their lives. Good food takes place in the head space between them.”

I have had Adam Gopnik over for dinner, and even he passed on the coffee.

If dessert is store-bought, guests will have less trouble saying no. If, however, it’s homemade, they will have a slice, just to be polite. When they say, “just a sliver,” be respectful of that. If a guest has brought dessert, particularly if he or she made it, serve it with the same respect and care that you did your own dishes. Do not slap it on the table as an afterthought. One last tip: When slicing cake, run the knife under hot water in between each slice. You’ll get a clean cut every time and avoid the messy buildup on the side.

REESE’S RICE PUDDING

This is a mashup (that means I stole two ideas to create one I can call my own without being sued) of Jennifer McLagan’s recipe for bone marrow rice pudding from her book
Fat
and a basic risotto.

I think that it’s a hit because it removes the one variable of rice pudding that is commonly unpopular: the raisins. And it replaces the offending dried fruit with the flavour of Reese’s peanut butter and chocolate, which is hardly peanut butter or chocolate but is nonetheless insanely delicious.

In a saucepot, gently heat the milk and the vanilla bean, without boiling.

In a large pan, toast the rice for a few minutes on low heat. As you would for risotto, slowly ladle in the milk, stirring constantly, letting each batch evaporate before adding more. Incorporating all the milk, cook until the rice is tender but not soft, about eighteen minutes. In a mixing bowl, whisk the sugar, salt, eggs, liquor, and chocolate. Fold into the rice pudding, cook for a couple more minutes, and serve warm.

If preparing in advance, cook the rice halfway, for nine minutes. Transfer to a tray, spread flat, and allow to cool. When ready to serve it for dessert, slowly heat it back up to a light simmer. Fold in the sugar, eggs, liquor, and chocolate, stirring, until cooked through.

T
hose milk people had the right idea. Everything should have an expiration date: jobs, marriages, interviews, biopics, dinner guests. I believe that when we keep doing something past its prime, the experience sours.

I understand the compulsion. When things are going well, when everyone is having fun, there is an unspoken communal will to continue. But that’s just when you should be thinking of an exit strategy. When we are done with an evening, it can be excruciatingly uncomfortable that the other parties involved want to keep it going.

Take a page out of the comedian’s handbook and always go out on a high note, because that’s how they’ll remember you. I’m not saying that if you get a big laugh at 8 p.m. you should say, “You’ve been a great audience, thanks for coming out,” and walk off the stage, but it’s better to leave them wanting more.

THE END

 
 It’s hard to know when the night is over. In restaurant etiquette, a server never asks anyone to leave and never brings a bill without being asked (or at least they shouldn’t, and it’s considered rude), so they use cues. Asking, “Can I get you anything else?” means you should ask for the bill. Wiping tables and putting up chairs means the restaurant is closing.

One of the splendid advantages of dining at home is that there is no closing time. No one is waiting to take our table. The establishment is not losing money if we linger after our meal without spending more. However, the dinner party’s timeline is not infinite, and we can use the professional server’s techniques to draw the evening to a conclusion.

Yawning means you’re tired. Tidying up around guests means you want them out. The problem is, your guests may be drunk and not pick up on social cues.

These, however, are our guests, not our clients. At home we are not bound by the propriety of servitude. If subtlety isn’t working, just tell your guests to get out. You don’t have to be a lout about it. Something softer such as “Well, I need to go to bed” or “I wish we could go all night, but I’ve got an early-morning squash game” should suffice. I don’t know that squash is a real game — frankly, the sport sounds made up — but I have friends who claim this as a reason for early rising.

There are people (and this is where my understanding of human nature runs dry) who think there is some inherent rudeness in calling it a night, or think that it is a competition with the other guests in which whoever goes home first loses. This is rubbish. If anything, it’s considerate to not overstay your welcome.

Most of the time, if you’re looking, you’ll see couples attempting to wordlessly communicate with each other, gauging their desire to leave. They’ll glance at their watches and use their eyes to point toward the door. There’s that hand on the shoulder that says, “Honey, I’m ready for bed” or “Honey, you’re ready for bed.” Whichever way the wind blows, the message is, “Honey, start paying attention to me, because one of us is ready to go home.”

If you’re catching these signals, you can help these poor souls. Let them off the hook by pointing out, “Susie, I think Paloma is about to fall asleep. Maybe it’s time to get her to bed.”

You might also offer up leftovers. This is another case where economic and cultural background take precedence. Some think it gauche to take home a “doggie bag.” Likely that term has not helped the concept’s acceptance, but I think that many more people are anti-waste. Most people I know are quite busy and only too happy to accept a ready-made meal.

THE NIGHTCAP

A nightcap can be a great or terrible way to end the evening. As my shelf of liquors has grown, I’ve gotten in the habit of offering guests a Scotch or bourbon. (Now I feel self-conscious that I don’t have any good brandy.) This is usually toward the evening’s close, as everything is winding down. If you are prepared for everyone to stay at least another hour, by all means place a bottle on the table. Just know that it will blur the concept of time.

Not everyone is in agreement that a nightcap is a drink just before leaving. The word alone is insufficient to communicate that message. If you are about ready for guests to leave, do not provide any additional drinks without strings attached.

If it’s a drink for the road, make two things clear:

1. 1.
   This last drink signals the end. Invoke your impending sleep and your guests’ impending departure.
   
2. 2.
   No one who is driving home should have a drink for the road. But on a cold winter’s night, those who are walking or travelling by train, bus, or streetcar can do well with something to keep them warm and giggly on the journey home. This can be introduced and assessed with “Well, if you’re walking home, how about one for the road?”