The Expendable Course
Do I look like a deviled egg? Or remind you vaguely of a jalapeño popper? I must, because whenever there’s a potluck, I am always assigned the appetizers! Never a casserole or cookies, mind you, just the appetizers. You know, the food that’s served before the food. Those cheese trays and canapés that invite us to get that full-bloated feeling just before we belly up to the table. If appetizers were simply a clever way to serve chips in fancy bowls, I might be all for it. But no, it’s a full-on course, people, and it’s wearing me out!
I used to blame the creation of appetizers on the bacchanalia of the Romans. I was so wrong. Allegedly, appetizers were first served in Ancient Greece. Though I’d hazard it was a toga-wearing man who first mused, “Hey, can we eat before we eat?”
These days, appetizers are all about hospitality. We lay them out for special occasions, for our company. Guests who get to dine on the fancy china after licking spinach artichoke dip off their fingers. After all, I don’t know anyone who serves appetizers before their weeknight meatloaf. Although come to think of it, with my mother’s Spam version it would have been a banner idea.
I admit, when I host gatherings, I often actually forget to make appetizers. Yes, it’s true! More than once, as I prepared the final components of a sumptuous feast, I looked up from my simmering Dutch oven to see my guests file into the kitchen only to realize there’s not an amuse-bouche to be found! Smiling madly, I’d ransack my cupboards praying to Lawrence, the patron saint of cooking, that I’d find an errant bag of pretzels or for God’s sake where’s that hummus that was hiding in the back of the fridge?!
When I did remember to make appetizers, it’d undermine my attempts of being the hostess with the mostest. I’d grit my teeth as I’d painfully watch everyone gobbling finger sandwiches with abandon! Wait a minute … is that my husband inhaling a colony of shrimp while my aunt stuffs herself with stuffed mushrooms! My dear reader, can you forgive me for screaming, “LEAVE ROOM FOR DINNER” as I hid the sweet and sour meatballs behind the couch?
That was me, for years. Well, until therapy. And, drumroll please, I announced my appetizer strike. I simply came to a fork in the road and decided I will no longer serve them. Nope. No way. I figure if you come to my house for dinner, that’s what you get: dinner. Not pre-dinner before dinner, but dinner. It reminds me of my friend Andrea who tells her kids every Christmas that it’s Jesus’ birthday, not theirs. We’re both sticklers for detail that way.
Meanwhile, we’re all in a cooking renaissance where kitchens have Instapots and Kitchenmaids. My friends, who previously couldn’t operate a can opener, now use words like sous-vide and roulade. With a straight face! Thus, appetizers have gone from Ritz crackers to mousse crostini and gougères. Frankly, I don’t even know what gougères are! When my coworker waxed poetic about them, I drifted off and dreamt of simpler days with a pig in a blanket.
I shouldn’t be surprised, we’re talking about hors d'oeuvres here, the fancy-pants way to say cheese ball. Call it what you will, eating before we eat is silly and, for us cooks, time consuming. Let’s use our precious hours doing something way more important. Like making dessert.