The Dinner Party Resurrection
By Charlie Smith-Knight
In the spirit of Spring and breathing new life into things, I am spear heading a campaign to bring back the Dinner Party. I am infamous for my frozen pizza catering method but 2 weeks ago I made a perfect Yorkshire pudding and in a moment of brazen over-confidence, I figured that meant I could cook a three-course meal for six people. In reality, it has taken me 30 odd years to achieve a decent Yorkie so based on that trajectory, I’ll be able to produce a passable roast in about 2084. However, my sheer audacity was throwing out an invite in the group chat before logic could talk me out of it. Of course, there were a few challenges to overcome like the fact that I invited more people than I have chairs for. Equally I don’t own enough dinner plates. And I am to cooking what Eddie the Eagle was to ski jumping. Possibly I haven’t ranked those things in order of importance. However, everyone loves an underdog story and Eddie is now a national treasure so I remained hopeful that this Easter, Jesus wouldn’t be the only thing getting resurrected.
Plan
First off, the menu. I was aiming for the middle ground. I know, I know but quality over creativity, ok? I have seen enough Bake Off to know that. So, I low balled with the starters- soup and prawn cocktails, headed for hearty mains- lasagna and a beetroot and red onion tart- and finished with a chocolate covered, booze filled something for dessert. Because I would eat sponge if it was covered in chocolate. To make this challenge extra spicy one of my guests is vegan. So, I needed a plant-based option of each course for Greta Thunberg. My husband’s input on the menu was that it provided ‘the least opportunities to poison anyone’ which certainly felt like an endorsement of my decision making. With the menu in order, a detailed shopping list was drawn up. A whole page of A4 that I was more concerned about losing than my passport.
Next on the agenda was seating arrangements. I had to retrieve garden chairs from the shed and hose off the cobwebs that had been multiplying since the birds flew South for the winter. I also dragged in the garden table to ensure my guests had more personal space than an economy Ryanair flight. In terms of ambience, candles were rounded up to do a lot of the heavy lifting. Not only is soft lighting relaxing, but it also helps to obscure some of the visuals in respect of the meal presentation. Like an Instagram filter but in real life. I fell down a rabbit hole looking at tableware. I do not belong to a generation who were given dinner plates as wedding gifts, so I don’t have a 36-piece Royal Doulton set to fall back on. As such, I began googling, loaded all conceivable cutlery and gadgets in my basket, talked myself out of any of it and resurfaced 3 hours later convinced that I could pull off a 2015 shabby chic mismatched aesthetic.
“I began prepping 24 hours in advance. I have never constructed a lasagne in my life, let alone at 11pm on a Friday night but I felt like Gordon Ramsey would be shouting his approval.”
Prep
I began prepping 24 hours in advance. I have never constructed a lasagne in my life, let alone at 11pm on a Friday night but I felt like Gordon Ramsey would be shouting his approval. I made a vegan chocolate orange cake, put far too much rum in the trifle and poured some into my face for good measure. On Saturday morning, I whipped double cream like an 18th century milk maid and completed the trifle. With a dash more rum. I roasted tomatoes and blitzed them into soup, prepped the prawn cocktails and even made a lemon and basil vinaigrette for the Ben Nevis of salad I had sliced up. And I had a dash more rum. I scrubbed and seasoned potatoes then caramelised beetroot with red onions. I used something called rice wine vinegar. And I had a dash more rum. At one point I was really hoping Lumiere and Mrs. Potts were going to turn up with their enthusiastic silverware but no such luck. I bought pre-rolled pastry and a loaf of bread because I am a realist, not a martyr. I played dining room Tetris to fit in the extra furniture and having borrowed a tablecloth, placemats and a cake stand from my younger but far more successful adult sister, I laid the table, polished the cutlery and started to get hostess fatigue. So, I had a dash more rum.
Party!
With the food chilling in the fridge, next to several bottles of prosecco, I was ready at the door when my guests arrived. I remembered to check the food with a meat thermometer and even garnish it in a not altogether unpleasing manner. We talked about the Oscars, we played Articulate and at the end of the evening my guests rolled out the scores like an episode of Come Dine With Me. I pulled in a respectable 9.9. Although the rum did render some of them unable to count and removed their capacity to make complex decisions. Overall, I would highly recommend throwing a dinner party of your own. Because if you’re going to have a mid-life crisis, this feels like the most wholesome way to do it.
