I’ve regaled you, dear reader, a few times with some of my more clumsy and amusing kitchen mishaps, but, thanks to a small dinner party I threw recently, I have a whole cadre of new tales to tell, which, if all goes according to plan, will put any fearful hostess-wannabe at ease about their ability to host lovely, entertaining dinners.

I’m going to Tarantino this tale and start at the end – plates licked clean, full bellies, and lots of laughter – otherwise, a successful evening. Now, let’s start at the beginning, and you’ll get a real feel for what a disaster in the kitchen I am….

Carrot Cake with Maple Frosting – What better dessert on a nippy fall evening than a towering, moist carrot cake, slathered with maple frosting? First disaster, one of my loaf pans managed to have gone missing. How? I have no idea, as I rarely separate them – this mystery, as of yet, remains unsolved. Second disaster, the cake didn’t cook all the way through, even after 50 minutes in the oven. When I turned my loaf pan over onto my cooling rack, 60% of the cake turned out properly, and the 40% in the middle slithered over the side of my loaf pan, and, after 50 minutes, it was just a shade more cooked than the raw batter. Oh dear.

Quick Fix – Take the remaining batter that would have gone into the missing loaf pan and make cupcakes out of the batter. Disaster averted, and no one was the wiser. I was not so lucky with some of the other mishaps.

Mashed Root Vegetables – I was thrilled at the prospect of turning my more exotic root vegetables – Harukei Turnips and parsnips – as well as potatoes into a creamy, comforting mash with Parmesan Cheese and nutmeg. But, as it turns out, a farm share’s worth of potatoes, harukei turnips, and parsnips yields just under 3 servings. As I hyperventilated and considered a last minute run to the grocery store, not entirely thrilled with the prospect of a 70/30 ratio of farm share to industrial agriculture, PT, generous soul that he is, offered to forego the mashed root vegetables, leaving adequate portions for the rest of us.

Quick Fix – Always, ALWAYS have a best friend around to save the day. Always. You’ll need someone to greet guests, take jackets, divert attention when the kitchen starts to smoke, offer to get more wine, clean up your spills, etc. Keep in mind that they may prefer the term ‘sous chef’ to ‘lackey’, but, no matter what you call them, they are always and in all ways, indispensable.

Pork Roast – Dear CS was describing her soon-to-be new kitchen, highlighting the fact that the open concept of the apartment would allow guests to sit at a breakfast bar while she cooked, as opposed to the semi-closed-off space that both she and I currently have. Now, while we have similar spaces, we feel very differently about them. She wants to socialize, I want to hide all of the blunders that I inevitably commit in the kitchen (along with the mounting pile of dishes in the sink, and the mess that I’ve made of the floors and counter tops). I am clumsy – I spill, I drop things, I swear, I stub my toes, burn myself, and twirl around like a cracked-out ballerina in need of a fix – all while my guests are happily and hungrily awaiting dinner. This is not a scene I wish to put on display. Unfortunately, owing to the strange configuration of my apartment, everyone was seated and had a front-row seat to the final moments of preparation during which I should have been plating a lovely pork roast, but, instead, decided to drop a large portion of it and the salad on the floor. That’s fun. Matt offered to take the floored roast, as it hadn’t been on the floor for a full 5-count, but, thankfully, there was more than enough roast to spare a serving, and I was able to laugh off the incident.

Quick Fix – Laugh. Stop. Laugh again. Just remember, worst case scenario is to order out for pizza. Best case scenario is to laugh at your clumsiness, dump the mess in the garbage and move on. If you stress, your guests will stress – if you laugh, your guests will laugh. It’s as simple as that.

Thankfully, that was the end of my embarrassing gaffs for the evening. But, the fact is, there could have been twice as many and they could have been twice as bad, but as long as I have two things – a wing-wo/man and the number for the neighborhood delivery place on hand – I know the evening will turn out just fine.

This used to be me.... but never again.

“There are no atheists in foxholes…. or among hostesses 60 minutes prior to guests’ arrival.” It’s a slight, but accurate tweak to this controversial statement.

However pious or atheistic she may be, in the 60 minute count down before a hostess’s guests arrive, there are any number of religious outcries, Hail Marys, pleadings and deals brokered with God, if he or she will just see fit to let this ill-advised decision – to have friends and family to her home for a meal – not result in her being labelled a failure as cook and hostess.

It’s rather pitiable to stand in your kitchen, bargaining with a deity to please let the meat come out fully cooked, not let the souffle fall, and somehow clean up that mess in the living room while I shower. I’ve been there. I do not intend to turn this post into a theological discussion, but rather to share my secret Holy Trinity of entertaining (and a few helpful reminders) for pleading-free hostessing.

The Holy Trinity of entertaining is thus: Cook, Arrange, Buy – all in (nearly) equal measure.

As a neophyte – and wholly idiotic – hostess I used to dogmatically insist on preparing every article of a meal. On one memorable occasion, I had 15 friends over for a housewarming party in my new Beacon Hill apartment. I prepared a 6 course barbecue in a kitchen with approximately 6 square feet of counter space that had to be hauled up 3 flights of stairs to the roof-deck. I spent 3 days preparing, got little sleep, and was exhausted and frustrated by the time my guests arrived. Not ideal.

In the years that passed, I acquired a modicum of flexibility and learned that simplicity is key. No one minds a store-bought dessert after dining on a homemade specialty; likewise, a simple meal of arranged, but high-quality comestibles is the perfect prelude to a luscious, homemade dessert.

Go easy on yourself and let these guys do some of the heavy lifting.

Depending on the size of the meal, I like to pick 1 or 2 items to cook at home, and scatter the tasks of arranging or buying among the rest of the meal’s components.

For example, a typical weeknight dinner may consist of a selection of cheese and bread/crackers for an appetizer (arrange), Moules Mariniere with crusty bread for dinner (cook), and a store-bought cake for dessert (buy). For a more formal meal, I have served my guests Spare Ribs for dinner (cook), Tomato Basil Salad (arrange) and Corn Bread (buy) as sides, with Peach Pie (cook) for dessert. I rarely cook more than 3 items for any meal, and even then, 1 of those items will be decidedly simple.

Aside from the Holy Trinity, there are a few other hints that will ease the pressure and lessen the odds of a catastrophe:

1. Plan the use of your kitchen in Outlook or iCal. It may seem ridiculous to schedule time with your oven, but it won’t seem so the first time you realize that one item needs to be in there at 300º for an hour, and another item has to be in there at the same time at 425º. In planning for a substantial dinner, I break down the activities according to ‘Prep’, ‘Stove Top’ and ‘Oven.’ Knowing what needs to be done and when will both help you consolidate tasks and help you avoid pitfalls.
2. When the craziness starts to overwhelm you, get out of the kitchen. I routinely save my shower and ‘getting ready’ for the moment when I start to mindlessly pick things up and put them back down again, to no real effect. It may sound like madness to take a break an hour before guests arrive when there is still so much to be done, but you have to give your mind a rest, and, as long as they have a drink in hand and a little something to nibble on, your guests will prefer a calm, sweet-smelling hostess who serves dinner a little late to a punctual, greasy-haired asylum escapee.
3. Be sensible about offers of help. Hostesses typically have enthusiastic offers of help from many guests, but I rarely allow anyone to bring more than wine, except in the case of a well-vetted and trustworthy friend. Imagine profiteroles without vanilla ice cream, should your well-intentioned friend forget, err in judgement, or, regrettably have to cancel at the last minute. As tempting as it may be to offload some of the burden, particularly when the proffers of assistance are so zealous, refrain and save yourself a headache down the road.

The last piece of advice to remember is that Entertaining should be, and will be, fun. Pour an extra glass of champagne, drop a raspberry into it, and enjoy the fantastic meal you’ve just prepared.