THE DINNER PARTY

We finished eating two hours ago and no noe has moved yet. Or, thank God, asked for coffee. They’re still sitting around my table, laughing, talking, arguing intently but always with good will. What I’m doing, mostly, is just watching, listening. Quite happily, of course, because I’m where I’m supposed to be: in my favorite place of all, and surrounded by come of my favorite people If all you knew about entertaining came from magazines, then you’d probably never entertain. Even those articles that pretend to advise on casual, easy entertaining for the busy, budget-minded host would scare a normal person off. “Hey, I can do that,” you say-then turn the page to a casual, easy buffet with three entrées, seven made-from-scratch side dishes, relish trays resembling Byzantine mosaics, four desserts, five wine glasses per person, and an unobtrusive string quartet tucked away in a corner. If you see guests at all, they’re in the background, upstaged by spectacular arrangements of food and table. Not at my dinner party. Here, you’ll see the guests first. They’re the stars. Everything else-decorations, place settings, and even that string quartet if I ever had one-point a supporting role. Food, though important, isn’t the point. People are the point. Ah, the people. Beverly and Ajit. Melissa, David and Liz. My daughter, if she’s in town. My daughter’s beau du jour. Three Gunters. Maybe Stu. Who else . .

Symmetry is a nice surprise, but it’s never a goat. Oh, I appreciate as much as any hostess four place settings down each side and one on each end, but my friends don’t come off the shelf in matched pairs, and I’ll take a broken set any time. They’re not all the same age, either. A typical evening’s assortment might range in age from fourteen to sixty-eight. I also see a diversity of occupations. Rug dealer. A couple of editors. Lawyer. Land appraiser. Roet. Middle school student council president. Three musicians. Housewife. Museum docent. Two writers. A person who does something or other with computers. I’m not even sure what a couple of them do.

I seldom have a reason for entertaining; I just decide it’s time, or Vickie on the other end of the phone tells me it is. so I set a date two or three weeks away and call around. Without a reason for a party, there’s no mandatory guest list; I can invite anyone I please. Even after all these years. I’m still amazed whenever I hear someone say, “Damn, we have to have the Sludgebottoms. We’ve owed them for ages.” Or, “Try to avoid Donald. He’s awful. I only invited him because he bought one of my designs.” I don’t mind anybody making nice for business reasons. But don’t confuse the practice with entertaining for your friends at home. We like to assume we were invited to your dinner party because you like us so much. If others are there for mercenary reasons, then we can’t be sure, can we?

I don’t even remember my first dinner party. My husband and I regularly threw last-minute, post-dinner do’s where the musically inclined and musically deluded played guitars, sang, and drank a lot. My children were used to having people over, and after I was single for a few years my daughter began asking why we never had parties anymore. “I miss the people,” she said.

Well, why not, indeed? I missed my house filled with friends, too. I guess it had not occurred to me to entertain as a single. I was past the picking, singing, and drinking stage, but a dinner party? I’m not much of a cook. I told myself. I don’t have help. And as my parents had not often entertained, as it wasn’t something I grew up with, the thought was intimidating. In fact, my brother still snickers over the imaginative serving of an upside-down Mexican TV dinner on his first visit to my married-lady home. Well, the box wasn’t marked This Side Up. How was I to know?

Claire Garrett was my inspiration. She made entertaining seem easy, almost as effortless as nightly family dinners. She and Bob had people over frequently-friends, friends’ children who likely as not were the Garretts’ friends as well, anyone visiting friends. Claire didn’t worry about even numbers either, or about having more boys than girls, more girls than boys, May-December mixtures, or one too many accountants. And although she’s a top-rate cook, Claire knows her friends prefer simple, wonderful food to spectacular creations requiring constant tending and last-minute topping-off by a harried hostess. All of us love a knock-your-socks-off French fete, but you can buy great food in restaurants and eat it all alone.

I want to be with my guests, so, following Claire’s example, I try to do everything ahead of time with the exception of salad-tossing. Once, however, I prepared from scratch a huge pot of multifarious soup and. reheating it while dressing, promptly forgot it. The rice sank to the bottom of the pot and burned. Well, as Vickie would say, I pitched a fit, a really big one too, before sending my daughter to the store and starting all over again at the eleventh hour. Melissa, a guest that night, suggests that I include the recipe.

GREEN CHILIES AND RICE SOUP-

from The Kimbell Cookbook2 tablespoons butler I cup milk

1/2 cup onion, chopped 1/2 cup raw rice

clove garlic, minced 2 4-oz. cans diced green chilies

cups chicken stock 2 cups whipping cream

1/2 cup (2 oz.) shredded Monterey Jack cheese

1/2 cup (2 oz.) shredded processed American cheese Salt, cayenne, cumin to taste

Garnishes: diced tomatoes, avocado slices, tortilla chips, chopped cilantro Sauté onions and garlic in butter over low heat for ten minutes. Add stock, milk, and rice and simmer for about twenty minutes. Add remaining ingredients and heat through over medium heat. Taste for seasoning. Yield: six cups.



Yes, I know it’s rich, But rich soup once in a while won’t hurt you. If you disagree, don’t eat it. but we don’t want to hear why. My guests never talk about their diets at dinner.

Lately, I’ve been letting guests who offer bring something. For instance, Claire makes a wonderful Cuban bread, and when we’re having Indian food, the Jhangianis’ contribution is invaluable (especially when it’s the entrée). Vickie makes a moist carrot cake packed with calories that is to regular carrot cake what a two-week cruise under God’s Grecian sun is to a vitamin D tablet. In fact, she really made me mad the night she took the leftover slice to her sitter instead of leaving it with me. I don’t mind telling you I came close to pitching another fit right then and there. First-timers usually aren’t allowed to bring anything, but only a fool would have refused Anne’s homemade bread that I’d tasted at her house a few weeks before. Sometimes, one must acquiesce.

Speaking of first times, let’s review the guest list to be sure we’ve included, if not first-time guests, then at least first-time combinations. One friend kept having the exact same guests in the exact same mix. We were all good friends and, true, each of us was stunningly brilliant and articulate, but we found ourselves playing our roles so frequently that we became irretrievably typecast whenever gathered at my friend’s table, our conversation predictable, incestuous, inevitable. Above all, I cherish old friends, but what a joy to present the new to the old. Oh, I don’t intend for all to become best pals for life, but I learn so much about both when we’re together; the unexpected spices added to familiar ingredients make an entirely different stew.

Speaking of which:

LAMB AND ARTICHOKE STEW-

from The Frugal Gourmet

4 tablespoons butter 1 6-oz. can tomato paste

2 lbs. boneless lamb, cubed 1 cup dry white wine

3 yellow onions, peeled, chopped 2 14-oz. cans artichokes in brine, drained

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1/2 cup parsley, chopped 1/2 teaspoon dried dill weed

Salt and pepper to taste 3 tablespoons lemon juice

In very large frying pan, melt butter. Add lamb and saute until lightly browned. Remove the meat, sauté the yellow onions along with the garlic and parsley. Place the meat, onions, garlic, and parsley in a heavy kettle, and add salt, pepper, tomato paste, and white wine. Simmer, covered, for about one and a half hours, or until lamb is tender. Add the artichokes, dill weed, and lemon juice. Simmer until all is tender, about one and a half hours. Serve over pilaf.



Usually, unless there’s someone new who needs to hear Vickie’s West Texas accent, I don’t care where anyone sits, but I’m happiest when everyone fits at one table, so I can see every face and hear every word. A few weeks ago, while setting up a second table for overflow, I remembered reading that you should put all your quiet guests together. That way, they’ll talk easily among themselves. Shuffling place cards, though, I realized I didn’t have any quiet guests. Come to think of it, I never do. The only quiet person at my parties is me, and I’d say something if everyone else would just shut up for a minute.

No awkward silences at my house, you see. And few awkward moments at all, really, except from a guest who drank too much. Finally, with great regret, I stopped inviting her. It was the only solution.

Guests have a few obligations, too, I believe. They come only if they want to come. They come to enjoy the other guests and to learn something from them. They don’t drink too much. They treat the youngest with as much respect as the oldest. They ask questions and offer opinions, which to me represents the most personal kind of sharing. In return, I don’t frown when they ask for the salt shaker; I’d even let them use toothpicks if they wanted to. Of course, they never do. What kind of friends do you think I have, anyway?

May Sarton’s poem Of Havens suggests that a home is as much a gift to those who come into it as to the family inside. My gift, my home, is flawed. Something always needs to be done. Everyone’s house, except those of the rich, who are very different from you and me, needs something done. A friend seldom entertains because she’s waiting until everything’s perfect, even though her house is far grander than mine and her culinary skills more sophisticated. She waits for the last Louis XIV chair to be upholstered, she waits for the fresh raspberries to come in, and she waits and waits. I wait for nothing, except payday.

There are those who would tell you to make out a budget before you make out a guest list, but I’m not among them. If I knew how much I’d be spending, I’d never entertain, and that last visit to the grocery store is always a stunner. By then I’m more interested in saving time than money, and prone to splurge on expensive desserts or exotic cheeses. I can’t remember how often I’ve used a collection of candles, sometimes a collection of one, for a centerpiece, instead of a bouquet of store-bought flowers.

That reminds me. Do you know what my all-time favorite Beautiful Couple, Brooke Hayward and Peter Duchin. use for place mats at their dinner parties? Books. How-to’s, novels, biographies. Vogue showed a picture of their table all ready for guests, and sure enough, in front of every chair was a stack of books topped with silverware, napkin, and goblets. Sometimes I wish I were the kind of person who would think to use books as place mats, but I’m afraid that even if I were out of place mats and looking about for substitutes, books would never, ever, occur to me. Generally, I tend to use place mats as place mats, but I’ll tell you something. If I ever did use books as place mats, my friends would say, “Sheila, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.” Except for Jan. She’d just stare at her lap and bite her lip to keep from laughing. I’ve seen her do that.

All right. My dining room, which is really part of my living room. It has Chinese orangy-red coral walls, three framed posters, a black Oriental buffet, a glass étagère, and a no-nonsense Scandinavian table that seats eight comfortably, ten crowdedly. and twelve all-jammed-uppedly. The chairs, which weren’t expensive, are the best part, because they have arms, upholstered seats, and backs: chairs meant for sitting for hours, sitting until it’s time to go home. After dinner I put out a tray of liqueurs and-but only if forced-coffee. I’ve never licked the coffee problem, and am embarrassed to remember snapping at one guest who requested it. Maybe ail these wonderful friends I’ve been talking about will chip in and buy me one of those huge electric urns, so that coffee too can be prepared ahead of time. That’s the least they could do.

“They” being my friends, these people sitting around my table. Mike and Vickie, the Milans. You can’t see their faces, but I can.

At one end of the table Mike tells of the Blackman elopement, a favorite story 1 request again and again.

With wry humor David speaks of city government, the perplexities of parenthood, and Serbian music.

Karen smiles to punctuate the penetrating question she’s just asked, and, outspoken as always, Pete probes with ready wit at the conversation’s seams. Laughter everywhere, much of it around Vickie, whose vowels stretch from here to Anson, Texas, her hometown, and whose face changes continually to dramatize whatever story she’s telling. Claire’s own constant humor nudges things back into perspective, and I’m still waiting to have my say.

Friends do grow more important, you know, rather than less. I remember my grandmother sadly telling me of a friend who had moved several states away to live with her son. “But Grandmother,” I said, “now she’ll be near her grandchildren.” My grandmother said I didn’t understand. “When you’re our age. you need to be with your friends.”

1 think I do understand now; at least I’m beginning to. Certainly friends are essential to my well-being, and at the risk of sentimentality, I do consider some of them family, cousins to replace those from my childhood whom I no longer see, sisters I never had, a spare brother or two. a few extra nephews and nieces. I could even call one the token crazy uncle, but I won’t say which. They’re as dear to me, as sustaining, as family, absolutely. And that’s why they’re here at my table, in my home, where just now anyway, they-all of us-belong.

Now. How about some coffee?

WINE AND FOOD: A HAPPY MARRIAGE



One of Dallas’s eccentric but lovable hostesses used to put goldfish in the water goblets to ensure that her guests drank wine with their dinner. Later on in the evening, when she was sure that everyone was having a good time, she would replace the glasses with fresh, fishless ones, so that those who were so inclined could sip their water. But the point had been made. Wine can make or break your dinner party.

How much do you need? Plan on one-hall bottle of wine per person for dinner. II your friends or guests really enjoy their wine, you should plan on a total of three-quarters to a bottle per person. (And plan on taxis or a designated driver for this group.) Expect to get four to five glasses per bottle.

It you serve several different wines, for example, champagne for the aperitif, Char-donnay for the first course, a Pinot Noir for the entree, and a dessert wine, plan on having more bottles of the first wines than the later wines, People tend to drink more of the early wines than they drink of the later red and sweet wines.

A few recommendations:

Upscale wines: Bonneau du Mar-tray Gorton Charlemagne 1986, $60; Dominus 1984. $50.

Mid-range: Gustave Neibaum, Laird. Carneros, Chardonnay 1988. $14;Sterling Vineyard, Winery Lake, Pinot Noir 1965, $20.

Inexpensive: R.H. Phillips Night Harvest Cuvee White n.v. (100% Sauvignon Blanc), $799 per magnum; McDowell Valley Vineyard Red Table Wine n.v., $8.59 per magnum.

Cheap: Reserve St. Martin Cuvee Blanc n.v., $4.99 per magnum; Sebastiani Proprietor’s Gamay Beaujolais n.v., $4.99 per magnum.

After dinner, it is okay to switch to a less expensive wine. The wines selected to go with dinner, of course, are matched with the food; for sipping, a softer wine with a less demanding character is more palatable. Try to minimize the quality gap between dinner and after-dinner by taking a moderate rather than a drastic price drop. If you serve the pride of your cellar for dinner, don’t serve plonk afterward.

The wine should match the mood and the menu. Let’s say you’re serving:

Nouvelle with a Thai twist: Thai touches of pepper, cilantro, and curry require wines with plenty of fruit and unobtrusive tannins and acid. Recommended: Trefethen, Napa valley, White Riesling 1987 $7.99; Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais-Vil-lages, $5.99.

Casual Italian: Add a sip of sophistication to the casual dinner with Italian wines that are a bit off the beaten track. To try: Maculan Breganze de Bregan-za 1987; $10.99; Frescobaldi Pomino Rosso 1986, $11.99.

Country French: Country French cuisine and unpretentious French wines are a winning combination. Two good ones: Barton et Geustier Macon Villages 1988, $8.49; E. Guigal Cotes du Rhone 1987, $7.99. -Becky Murphy

ETIQUETTE: KEEP THOSE INVITES COMING



You know to keep your elbows off the table, You know to start with the outside fork and work your way in. You know the bowl of lemon water at the end of the meal is not soup, And. thankfully, you know not to talk with your mouth full. You, my dear, are a well-mannered person.

Still, it occurs to some hosts and hostesses around town that a number o guests are subconsciously sabotaging their dinner parties. How?

Let’s say you practice what has become known as “defensive eating.” Ever aware of your HDL-LDL cholesterol ratios, you refuse to eat anything not prepared just so. Well, the etiquette experts would like to have a word with you There is a correct way to tell your hostess you won’t be participating in the veal piccata she has just placed before you: “Quietly,” according to Jean Beall, community affairs executive at Tiffany & Co. “Twenty years ago, you never would have said ’No, thank you. I don’t care for any veal piccata.’ But now it’s acceptable to say something”

Suppose you’re allergic to seafood and you can’t determine the nature of the main course. The aroma suggests the oceanic, but you’re not sure, it’s socially acceptable to ask your host, but inflection is key. Don’t ask “What is this?” Instead, ooohh and aahhh over it and then say. “This looks wonderful. Could you tell me what this is?” When the host answers “eel” smile approvingly, then cut it up into little pieces and push it around on your plate.

Easy enough. How about this one? The soup is served in what appears to be a scooped out loaf of pumpernickel bread. You know to spoon the soup away from you. You know not to slurp, But you’re not sure what to make of this bread-bowl. Do you eat it? What about the acorn squash your pheasant salad arrived in? The rule of thumb is: as the host does. And hope he’s not looking to you for guidance.

What if, oh dear, you smoke, and the host’s home is conspicuously lacking in ashtrays? If you can’t abstain, simply excuse yourself to a place where no one but the family dog will know what you’re doing-the back yard.

Of course, dealing with such modern-day dilemmas makes even the most gracious of hostesses-who want you to believe they’re open-minded about these things – absolutely cringe. “Anyone welcome in my home is free to do whatever they please,” they’ll say as they make mental notes never to invite you back.

Perhaps the social quandary that perplexes even the most seasoned host centers around the guest who is on a liquid diet. Arriving with protein powder in hand, she expects the host to prepare the beverage in his blender and then dominates the evening’s conversation with talk of willpower and ketosis.

Jean Beall’s suggestion for those starv ing themselves on a liquid last? Stay home. -KG,

TEN SURE-FIRE ICEBREAKERS



Your mother told you never to bring up sex, politics, or religion, Well, we’re here to tell you that breaking that rule is decidedly preferable to yawning through a dinner party, The next time your gathering needs a lift, may we suggest (politely, of course) that you mention:

1. The sexual preferences of our gubernatorial candidates

2. Carter High School

3. Jimmy Johnson’s divorce

4. Roy Tarpley’s drug problems

5. Carol Peeler

6. Jimmy Johnson’s hairdo

7. Stun guns

8. Legislating art; Dick Armey vs. Mapplethorpian excesses

9. The AIDS questionnaire: would you or wouldn’t you?

10. Jimmy Johnson’s wardrobe

Paxton Gremiliou & Loyd Tayloz



Charles Paxton Gremillion and Loyd Tavlor, the art and antiques dealers known collectively as Loyd-Paxton, do their dinner parties by the book. In the name of lively conversation, they’ll separate couples at the start and ask men to rotate seats midway through the meal and again before dessert. “It probably isn’t kosher according to Emily Post, but it keeps us with a mentally active dinner party,” says Paxton, who believes “momentum” is key. “There must never be a lull. What keeps a party up and exciting and interesting is continual change-change of dinner partner, change of space, change of lights and music” Since home is atop their gallery on Maple Avenue, that can mean drinks and hors d’oeuvres inside, and dinner, weather permitting, on the terrace.

Though they’re known for their lavish black-tie dinners (catered by Food Company), the two claim they are just as apt to host a casual buffet of Tex-Mex called in from Mia’s. Says Paxton: “Dinner parties are one of the most difficult forms of entertainment. You can have eighty for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres much easier than twelve for dinner.” -Kim Goad

Pat Pattenson



“The menu just kind of happens The flowers just Kind of happen. What I worry about is who to sit next to whom,” says Patricia Patterson, the popular suciety figure who regularly opens up her Highland Park home to assorted friends and Dallas cultural groups. To avoid dinner party doldrums (“You know, when the two most interesting people in the world sit next to each other and talk about nothing but their grandchildren all night”), Patterson makes a point of pulling aside each guest during cocktails and priming them on their dinner partner. “Then, if everything is sort of quiet, you go to Plan B.”Plan B can take one of several forms: she’ll ask guests to reveal their most embarrassing moments (“It sounds childish, but it’s fun”). Or she’ll jot down a topic inside each place card and ask everyone to speak on the subject.

Though she frequently hosts formal gatherings with visiting luminaries like Robert Redford, Jihan Sadat, David Hockney, and Lady Bird Johnson, Patterson also loves the small, casual affair. “My favorite dinner parties are the ones with six or eight old friends ! haven’t seen in a while. It can be Bubba’s fried chicken or chili in the kitchen. It’s a telephone invitation at the last minute. Or maybe I’ll see someone at the symphony and say, ’What are you up to tomorrow night?”’ -K.G.

Dan Fry



The groups that come together for one of astrologer Dan Fry’s dinner parties-and, on the average, he hosts one a week-resemble the kinds of fantasy dinners others dream of, with a provocative mix of people from business, industry, and the arts. He doesn’t go for gimmicks, relying instead on the kind of conversation that will spring from any well-thought-out guest list. “I spend as much time on a seating plan as I do the main course,” he says. “And 1 try to avoid-like the plague-too much sameness.! try to mix generations and backgrounds so people have something of interest to share with each other.” He is so meticulous about his table that he tape-measures the place settings at the last minute to make sure they’re uniform.

Fry relies on the harvest from his backyard herb, vegetable, and flower gardens-“they play a small part, but lots of small parts make s difference”-for his multi-course meals, which are always planned around in-season fare. Often, he’ll prepare whatever strikes his fancy. Other times, he’ll build the menu around themes, like the time he served caviar and iced vodka, lemon-based Russian soup, and barbecued lamb in celebration of the czar’s birthday. His philosophy: “Eat wonderfully and lots of it and don’t worry about things you can’t see-like calories and cholesterol.” -K.G.

the ungermauz



There are times, Jill Ungerman says, when she’ll transport the enrtire dining room to the library if a dinner party calls for a more intimate setting. “There’s a fireplace in there, and on a winter night, it’s wonderfully cozy.”

She and husband Jay (of Ungerman, Hill PC) “like to have people who don’t know each other” and regularly bring together assorted friends from the business, banking, and arts communities. Jill, the coauthor of Historic Virginia Inns- A Cook’s Tour and Historic North Carolina Inns-A Cook’s Tour, will, on occasion, use a dinner party as a means of testing recipes. “I like to keep things simple. I do it all the day of the party, even the shopping, because I like everything fresh. And if I have one sort of complicated dish,” she says of the time she tested a recipe for wild bear, “everything else will be simple.”

Their predilection is for Thai and Vietnamese dinners made with the lemon leaves from a lemon tree in their back yard and the Japanese basil, Japanese onion, tarragon, rosemary, and mint in their herb garden. “I’m a wing-it person. I won’t even have a seating arrangement beforehand. When everyone is in the living room having drinks and talking, that’s when I’ll figure out where they should sit.” -K.G.