Sweets to the....oh, you know.

Sweetness gets a bad rap. And for good reasons too – in an age where you’ll find sugar in tomato sauce, bread, and canned soup, in the same supermarket where you can buy practically infinite variations on cheap cookies and candy, we are overwhelmed to the point of literal sickness by all things sweet.  And we keep going back for more – to paraphrase the excellent First Bite by Bee Wilson, the effect of sweetness on our brains means that even if sugar isn’t love and happiness, it sure feels like it.

But this isn’t a reason to dismiss sweetness entirely. I feel something like pity for those people who claim not to like sweet things, the same sentiment I have for people who say they don’t like pop music or glitter. Taking pride in obscure and difficult pleasures (atonal music, conceptual art) may make you more sophisticated, but you don’t win prizes in life for being hard to impress.

I think this tug-of-war is why I like dessert wines so much. A little glass of really good sticky wine has a world of flavors in it. Tawny port conjures handfuls of nuts and dried fruit by a cozy wood fire, while late harvest Riesling makes me think of Hawaiian holidays, the creamy scent of sunblock meeting tropical fruit. But a bottle of Tokaji I had recently sticks out in my mind the most. I opened it after Thanksgiving dinner, passing around little cups of it to friends and family. It tasted like ripe apricots and fresh black tea, with the tanginess of the fruit meeting the floral intensity of the tea to make it refreshing.  But these flavors of their own might have been too astringent – it was the sweetness, in the end, that both highlighted the flavors and tied them together. I can still taste it now. 

Dinner Theatre Stage Fright.

In the strange ways of the modern world I have become Instagram friends with the terrific Scottish novelist Kerry Hudson (her books are great and you should read them). In a post I made about cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 15 she commented that she admired me because her attempts to cook Christmas dinner for two have ended in tears.

This comment made me pause. I am naturally an anxious person, so why doesn’t this kind of cooking faze me?  I’m not a professional chef, but I have cooked for big groups – I have cooked for 60 people in a co-operative house and 35 people in a homeless shelter. I also cook at home at least four nights a week. But it’s not just that I know how to cook. I have learned over time that all special occasion cooking boils down to a few key principles.

The Chamberlain Rules for Cooking for Special Occasions Without Losing Your Godd*mn Mind (with thanks to Kerry for the inspiration)

Don’t get too creative. My rule of thumb is that if I’m hosting a dinner party, I don’t cook anything I haven’t made before. For something like Christmas dinner, which has multiple dishes, I might relax the rule and make one or two new things, and keep everything else the same. But it’s always a better idea to make something straightforward but delicious rather than stretch for something really fancy and have it end in your total meltdown. Remember, it’s your house and you make your own traditions. Just because everyone else makes a roast dinner does not mean you have to! If you know you can make a delicious spaghetti with meat sauce, serve it up on Christmas with some garlic bread (everyone loves garlic bread) and top-notch Italian red wine and enjoy not being stressed. I guarantee you no one will complain.

Plan ahead.  Sit down a week in advance (more like 3 weeks for Christmas and Thanksgiving if you’re doing the full roast dinner) and collect all your recipes together. Decide on a time that you want to serve the meal, then subtract 30 minutes so that you have wiggle room in case something goes wrong or is taking longer than you thought. Write this second time at the bottom of a sheet of paper, and then use the recipes to write a reverse schedule. If you do this you’ll be able to see if too many dishes are piling up at the last minute. Don’t forget to include time to preheat the oven (30 minutes) and to bring joints of meat up to room temperature (usually an hour). While you’re sitting with the recipes, you can also check your cupboard supplies and write your shopping list.

Make dishes ahead as much as you possibly can.  If you’re making multiple dishes, avoid things that need last-minute attention as much as possible. Aim for dishes that can handle reheating, and even dishes that taste better after a few days’ rest like stews and curries. I would not have more than one of these (e.g. sautéed vegetables), and even then some vegetables which we eat steamed or sautéed work just as well roasted (e.g. asparagus or broccoli). As a rule: the oven is your friend, the hob not so much.

Ask for, nay, demand help if you want it. You’re the chef and you’re in charge, so you can get away with bossing people around. Guests can set the table, put cheese and crackers on plates, and pour drinks (especially for you). You’ll enjoy cooking more if you delegate where you can.

Last, but not at all least: if it doesn’t go the way you want this time, don’t give up! As they say in baseball, there’s always next year.