Appies!

Today is our friend's surprise (like anyone hasn't screwed it up yet) 50th Birthday Bash, and I have undertaken making one or maybe more later-in-the-evening appetizers for us to take to the party. My wife was intending to make her World Famous Spinach Dip, but she had a course out of town today, so I convinced her I could handle the appy thing. So here I sit with a copy of "The Complete Book of Party Food and Appetizers" open in front of me. I am looking at page 48 right now which consists of a checklist entitled "Dinner Party Planner." Forty eight pages in and not one recipe. I am reminding myself that we have a frozen bag of battered cheese balls in the freezer that I could really dress up with a couple of celery sticks and some three cheese ranch salad dressing as a dip. However, I would like to try something new within my solidly defined boundaries of "Don't overdo it." I guess I'm going to soldier on and hopefully find something that appeals to me and meets my demanding criteria: can be made with shit I already have in the house. Page 94: Yay! Food! Can anyone in this world actually hold 93 pages of party food planning and basics in their head? And if they can, do something useful with your life, for fuck's sake!

Now a bit of background is probably in order. I love to cook. Absolutely love it. There is no greater satisfaction to me in this world than creating something that puts a smile on people's faces. It's obvious why our mothers enjoyed the serving of meals to their families. I know the making got tiresome though, and the trying to think of what to make was the worst part. I know that for a fact because I am going through it now, and it is extremely frustrating (the cheese balls are lookin' good). I have always liked to cook, probably driven by the fact that I love to eat (waay too much). It can be a very creative pursuit, and when I fuck up, it satisfies my daily rageaholic requirements of swearing and pissing and moaning about things that cannot be changed.

The kids, God bless them, take it all in stride. They often ask me questions when I'm cooking like: "Brent, if you went on Hell's Kitchen, do you think you would win?" I like to tell them that if I went on Hell's Kitchen I would tell Ramsay to go F himself, at which point he would probably try to make out with me and the show would have to be cancelled due to the the new, difficult-to-sell (in the testosterone fueled world of professional chefs) gay subtext. Hell, we know Ramsay's a manly man, he's been cheating on his wife with a "professional" mistress for years now! Manly stuff, that. If I had my way, we would win the lottery and I would spend all of my days, free of stress, cooking my heart out. We would all end up monstrously fat, and die deleriously happy from obesity created medical disorders. They would need to use a cold chisel in the funeral home to remove the fucking smiles from our faces (so we could get that just-resting look for the viewing). If we had decided to be cremated, I hope we'd croak in the Spring, the aroma might get everyone around town thinking about BBQ season.

So getting back to tonight's menu, I am thinking maybe Thai Chicken Bites and Peanut Sauce. The book informs me that the food should suit the occasion, but the Thai connection just makes me think of wrinkly old people in speedos at all-inclusive resorts, pothead backpackers, and repugnant sex-vacation types. I'm not sure there will be more than two of those population subtypes at the party tonight. Food for our types of parties (laughing, drinking, fun) may not be within the scope of the book I am using. It seems written for a different type of party (forced laughs, bloated egos, and longing glances exchanged with members of the wait staff). The person with the best insight to the whole food-fits-the-occasion thing has got to be the hot-dog cart guy that works out on the street after the bars close. He gets it. After a night of heavy drinking and sweaty dancing, a smokie fits the bill to a T. Hold the chardonnay.

Yes, yes, I hear you little cheeseballs. We might just see you yet.