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NOVEMBER 2019 / SOUTHERNLIVING.COM
24
Help for the
Controlling Hostess
It’s the holidays. Say yes to the cheese straws
BY ELIZABETH PASSARELLA
I
F YOU ARE, let’s say, particular
about how you entertain, then
the holidays can be equal parts
exhilarating and exasperating, your
hosting Olympics marred slightly by
having to fit in decathlon coverage.
This is because you have an idea of
how you want Thanksgiving dinner
or Christmas Eve cocktails to go, and
people around you want to help.
I completely understand where
you’re coming from, because I’m also
a controlling person (in many areas,
not just entertaining). Southerners are
often so good at hosting that we let the
rogue, foil-wrapped offering get under
our skin. I, for one, don’t like surprises
in the form of unexpected cheese
straws that upset my appetizer balance,
and when people offer to assist me in
the kitchen, a small troll that lives in
my gut starts to shiver in panic.
I’ve found that hosts with this type
of personality tend to respond in one of
two ways when people ask what they
can bring. It’s either “Nothing! Just
yourselves!” or “If you’d like to make
a dip, eggplant caponata would work
with the rest of the menu. Here’s the
link to the recipe I like...only I leave out
the capers.” The problem with the first
response is that guests
will bring something
anyway, and while
a more free-spirited
hostess may be golden
with that, you are not.
The second should be
reserved for a relative
you’re comfortable with.
Let’s find the middle
ground—because holiday
gatherings should be
joyful and no one but
you really cares about
the appetizer balance.
(Everyone else is too
busy admiring your magnolia-leaf
mantel swag because you nailed that
sucker.) You can say, “Bring nothing,”
I, FOR ONE,
DON’T LIKE
SURPRISES IN
THE FORM OF
UNEXPECTED
CHEESE
STRAWS THAT
UPSET MY
APPETIZER
BALANCE.
and then roll with whatever comes in.
If it’s a bag of spiced pecans, tuck it
away, but if it’s stuffed mushrooms on
a platter, you need to set those out.
A better option, if you are going
to loosen your standards, is to do it
strategically. I often request beverages,
being specific but not tyrannical. “We
could always use seltzer,” or “We’re
heavy on Manhattans but light on wine,
so please bring whatever you love.”
If someone texts me en route to the
party, I usually ask for a bag of ice.
People like to help, and you don’t get
a ribbon at the end of the night for
not accepting any.
My mother-in-law doesn’t cook. In
the past, if I hosted Thanksgiving, I’d
tell her not to bring anything, thinking
I was helping her by giving her an out.
She would lovingly order six dishes
from her country club and pile them
on my dining table. We went on like
that for years. Now, I ask her to get the
club’s mashed potatoes, which reheat
well, and a store-bought pie. She still
brings at least one more thing, and
I happily serve it too.
I’ve learned that unbuttoning always
feels good, physically
and metaphorically.
Which brings me to
my word of advice
for the loved ones of
control freaks: The
most compassionate
act might be to give us
a choice. “I can bring a
bottle of Prosecco or
the shrimp toasts I
made for book club
last month. Would
either be helpful?”
That’s friendship.
Also, when your
hostess says to go have dessert and
stop loading the dishwasher, please
do so. She means it. å
