I was pleased to read the other day that there’s a growing trend towards informal pot-luck supper parties. For years now, particularly in these hectic pre-Christmas weeks, I have agreed at least in theory with my husband’s often-repeated advice, namely, entertaining one’s friends does not require a Big Formal Planning Operation. Having them in on the spur of the moment for coffee and mince-pie leftovers is, he maintains, much more fun.
It is, too, because they tend to invite you back more often and you get to meet a much greater assortment of people. In fact, once you relax and take your pleasures less formally it’s surprising how informal they I can get.
‘You must come and meet the Robinsons,’ said a recent dropper-in. ‘They’re dying to get to know you and they’ve invited us all over to their place on Saturday. The husband, Jim, is an absolutely fascinating man. I know you’ll have heaps of things in common.’
‘I thought we’d have our cocoa now and then you might like to see our holiday colour slides,’ said Mrs Robinson, a rather faded but brave-looking lady, as we all filed in and sat down.
‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ she added, setting up the projector and pinning the screen above her husband as he lay stretched out along the sofa asleep, unbuttoned and snoring like a lawn-mower.
Poor old Jim. He may well have had his absolutely fascinating moments but all I remember of him is an evening of Majorca with his shadowy tum rising and falling in the foreground.
I was telling a friend about this and she said that she still plumped for informality every time. In fact, if she had to choose among all her assorted friends – from Cordon Bleu right through to Bubble and Squeak – her very favourite hostess is the one who cut into her Christmas cake and revealed, in the very first slice she handed round, a beautifully cooked yellow felt-tipped pen.
It was this same poor soul who liberally sprinkled icing sugar on her son’s birthday cake. Then she lit the candles and marched into the darkened living-room saying: ‘Surprise, surprise. Come on, a nice big huff and puff now …’
So, with one mighty breath, her son dutifully blew out the candles and when they switched the lights back on the guests were all surprised to find themselves covered from head to foot in a great huffed swirl of icing sugar.
But strive as I may to emulate this somewhat devil-may-care attitude towards my guests I have to admit I do still get unnecessarily worked up when people are coming for a meal. In fact, for days before a dinner party I can’t seem to help steeping – nay, marinading – myself in cookbooks. Around the kitchen, on the breakfast table, beside my bed, GH, Robert Carrier and Elizabeth David all lie propped up and bristling with bookmarks.
Perhaps I am still over-compensating for the time in early married life when, during the disembowelment of our kitchen, I was forced to do my cooking on a single gas ring. I was quite blithe about it at first.
‘Come for the weekend!’ I cried to assorted friends. ‘You won’t mind, will you – we’re having to rough it a bit at the moment.’
Some took quite kindly to stews followed by fruit and cheese. But then I grew bold and started to juggle with fried chops all in one go with boiled potatoes. With salad fortifications it nearly worked. Until one daunting couple arrived and pushed their plates away.
‘Can’t eat hot and cold food together!’ they said firmly. Later at the railway station I had barely handed them into their seats and stepped back when the husband leaned towards his wife.
‘Hope I never have another weekend like that one!’ he boomed, as the train began to shunt. With necks craned, various passengers stared out at me – The Hostess with The Leastest – cringing on Platform Four.
Since then I’ve worked hard to improve my image although I’ve had the occasional set-back. Like the time I discovered a fascinating little leaflet entitled Clever Ways With Cabbage and decided to try part of it out on two of the most sparklingly amusing couples I know.
Possibly my ways weren’t clever enough or perhaps a more subtle personal alchemy was at work because sparkly chums duly arrived, clapped eyes on each other, Went Quiet and Stayed Quiet.
Have you ever noticed how you can have masses in common with both friend A and friend B but put them together and they loathe each other on sight? Equally mystifying is when A and B go off arm in arm and never speak to you again.
Another easy way to lose friends is via what we might call the Hostess’s Upward Spiral Syndrome. This starts when you invite them over for fish and chips and Guinness. Then they invite you back for a sardine dish they discovered in the Algarve, and Mateus Rosé. So then you give them smoked salmon and rather a good white wine. So then they come up with sharks fin and saki. And you give them caviare and champers …
But luckily, most of our friends are still with us and with the growth of informal supper parties a new relaxed atmosphere is gradually beginning to prevail.
‘You’ll have to take pot luck!’ I shall have to get used to saying, and I think that they’ll mostly agree that it’s the best way to entertain. Even if for some it may be Colcannon Supreme and for others Felt Pen Surprise.