INK
C
hefs are an untidy mixture of tech-
nician, creative savant, coach and
supreme dictator. I am guilty of all
of these traits. There’s no time for niceties
in the steamy, sleeves-up, controlled chaos
of a commercial kitchen, where the na-
tive language is profanity. And parties are
when my Type A tends to come out. Like
the barbecue I threw last summer. I had
broken my leg that winter, and for three
months my friends had shown up to help.
They took out the trash, brought me gro-
ceries, shoveled snow off the steps, folded
my laundry and generally kept me afloat.
Once back on my feet, I wanted to say
thank you. I would do my talking, as usual,
through the food—putting gratitude into
every bite. I broke out the offset barrel
smoker for ribs, pulled pork and chicken,
cooked up all the fixin’s, then baked an
entire roomful of ridiculous desserts. That
was the easy part. I know how to get food
to do what I want it to do.
unstoppable guests (you know the ones)
and give them specific tasks that show off
their strengths.
For your spreadsheet-wizard
co-worker: label duty.
Labeling your infrastructure at a party is
key—otherwise you risk finding a half-
gnawed sparerib in your favorite houseplant
the next day. So dedicate at least two recep-
tacles each for trash, recycling and compost
and have your wizard hang up signs that
even a fruit fly could figure out: trash here,
recycling here, compost here. (Bonus points
if the wiz brings his label maker.)
Teenage guests? Two words: lawn graffiti.
Unsupervised party parking is like an un-
tenable game of automotive Jenga. Solu-
tion: Send the kids off with cans of spray
paint and have them mark parking lines on
the lawn. Also arrows. It’s a great job for
bored teenagers who were dragged to the
party by their parents and would rather be
anywhere else—like, for serious. (Plus, show
me a 14-year-old who wouldn’t love an ex-
cuse to tag the landscaping.) Slip the most
responsible kid in the bunch $5 to police
against boobs and other unsavory 14-year-
old scribblings. They’re hard to remove.
Appoint your wine-aficionado
neighbor to be barkeep.
She can set up the coolers and ice—and
put out stickers you’ve raided from
your kid’s room (budget-friendly “wine
charms”!) next to the plastic cups. Make
it clear that she’s in charge of keeping
those coolers stocked. Helpful hint: If said
barkeep oversamples her wares, have a
backup in your back pocket.
For your trusty friend: sous chef.
And by “sous chef ” I mean that her one
and only job is to run interference and
keep unwanted “helpers” away from you.
Out-of-town guests? Pull up a sponge.
Announce that the rent for their stay is
dish duty. Tell them that this is their time
to shine. And to get you another glass of
wine before they start.
Finally, don’t feel bad about deputizing
guests! Believe me, if they’re willing to fold
your underwear, they won’t mind hanging
signs or parking themselves by the booze.
And instead of acting as information booth,
ringmaster, herder of cats and servant, you’ll
have the luxury of conversing with the peo-
ple you care about and enjoying your own
event. And that’s worth celebrating.
SUSAN REID is a chef and food editor of
King Arthur Flour’s Sift magazine.
The Three Little Words
Every Host Dreads
A Survival Guide By Susan Reid
GARY HOVLAND
People are a different story. They show
up to parties full of energy and good in-
tentions. And they always ask the worst
question a host—especially control-freak-
chef me—can ever hear:
“Can I help?”
We all appreciate the sentiment behind
this polite query, but come on, admit it.
You dread it too. Why?
Because you have to pretend you’re de-
lighted they’ve offered.
Because it means you’ll forget the eight
things you were keeping track of when
they asked.
Because it will take twice as long to ex-
plain what you need than it would to just
do it yourself.
Because if you don’t give them something
concrete to do, they’re going to freelance—
and God only knows what happens then.
Short of putting your head in the oven
and leaving it there, here’s what you do:
Choose four to six of your favorite, most
“Awesome work, Janice! Just buy me 10 more minutes!”
56 EATINGWELL JULY/AUGUST 2019
