The Ordeal of the Order Muppet

Dear Tamar:

We're throwing a celebratory dinner for our employees in a few weeks. My vision is to make a special menu, do a lot of the prep ahead of time, and have things set up so everyone can pitch in when they get here—but have it all go smoothly, be on time (we have a toddler to get to bed), and wind up delicious. I love everyone cooking together with a glass of wine, but it isn't the easiest to pull off. Any advice on what we should make? Or how to get everyone in the kitchen without it devolving into chaos?

-The Order Muppet

Dear Order Muppet:

I once stood across my kitchen counter from a dinner guest and felt rage. I choose this wording carefully: I wasn’t agitated, exercised, piqued, or annoyed; I was enraged. After stemming kale—which I’d allowed because they’d wanted to help—the guest in question had left the countertop littered with kale skeletons. I had to stop cooking and clean just to have room to keep cooking. It was barbarous.

Another time, I was serving dinner to a well-known journalist and, when I saw how much lettuce he’d crammed into a salad spinner, dropped my knife, seized the spinner from his hands, and yelled something tragic and nonsensical like: “Think of the lettuce!”

I tell these cautionary tails so you can avoid my missteps. It isn’t in the holiday spirit to condemn guests as barbarians or to take things out of journalists’ hands. I believe in fostering a bond between dinner companions by letting them pitch in—you’ll never arrive at my house to find the table laid and all the preparing done. But since losing my cool on those occasions, I’ve devised ways to foster that bond without becoming emotionally or physically aggressive.

I like permitting quiet disorder before dinner: it inspires a gentler form of crisis bonding. This sets the meal’s atmosphere, as much as do good lighting and an obliging play list. Within this light disorder, guests must be allowed to solve a problem; and the further limitation is that it can’t be a problem the specifics of whose solution you’re invested in.

That sounds like a tightrope walk. But I’ll give some examples:

• Instead of asking guests to do any real vegetable prep, (see: my kale stemming error, above) give the first to arrive garlic cloves to peel. Hand them a small knife, a small cutting board, a bowl, and directions to your compost bucket.

• If the salad isn’t made, ask a guest to finely mince shallots, add 1/2 tsp salt, and then cover it all in vinegar. This is most of the work of making a vinaigrette. As with garlic, provide a knife, surface, vessel, and map to compost.

• Unless you’re Martha Stewart, let guests set the table, and let them be creative. Don’t worry about having enough room or matching chairs or even matching plates. Be adamant, though, that the table be fully set, with napkins, two glasses (water and wine), and utensils at each plate. Ask the same guests to fuss with lighting. Again, unless you’re Martha Stewart, they’ll do a good job, and they’ll feel proud. If you are Martha Stewart, ignore this tip.

• If the meal is simple enough—as to my mind every celebratory meal should be—ask a guest to make a savory sprinkle or salsa verde to pass at the table. If you’re making a big polentata, which I heartily encourage, you can ask a guest to find parsley, garlic, salt, and olive oil, and anything thing else that might work, and chop and swirl it all into a bowl to pass around. Or, make a big pot of braised meat, a pot of beans, and cornbread, and ask a guest to make an exciting compound butter. Make a big chowder, and pull apart rolls, and cupcakes, and ask a guest or two to be in charge of frosting.

• Drinks are a great place to get help. Ask a guest to make a pitcher of what my husband, incorrectly, calls Grog. In our house parlance, this is a mixture of any carbonated beverages he finds, plus sour cherry simple syrup—or any other kinds; we have a cherry tree—plus ice, plus…whatever he wants to add. This is always non alcoholic, and often peach- or pink-hued, and festive.

• Let guests chop herbs for garnish. See the first two tips for steps to success.

Your plan will proceed the same, whether any of those is done poorly, or perfectly, or not at all. Often, whoever wasn’t drafted before dinner will jump up to do a bit of organizing or washing just when you wonder if any of it was really a help. Or, your kitchen might be messier than it would have otherwise been, after all…

Dear cook, your wanting guests to help is an act of generosity. Do the heavy lifting yourself, leaving them tasks that can act as twine, to each other and to the night. And you, yourself, let go. Embrace your inner muppet, and keep the words of the finest muppet, Kermit, close at hand: “Forget the map, roll down the windows, and whenever you can, pull over and have a picnic with a pig.”