It was thus that Operation Be God's Dinner Party came to be. I neglected to mention this to anyone before now, but "Be God's Dinner Party" is the name by which I have secretly been referring to this shindig for a good six days. "Be God's," you see, is the rousing final song sung at each week of ND Vision, and it's a phrase I like to frequently apply in situations where it does not belong. "Be God's Natty Champ" was a major theme of my journey to Miami for the BCS Championship, "Be God's Shamrock Series" was the cry of the Chicago game...apparently, I mostly like it for use in football games. It also seemed entirely appropriate, however, for this mid-Booze Cruise Weekend gathering of people who choose to spend their free time in extra-curriculars and summer jobs where they sing and teach kids about Jesus.
After spending the week talking about Be God's Dinner Party, looking up recipes for Be God's Dinner Party, and having nightmares about the food poisoning that could potentially result from Be God's Dinner Party, the preparations went into full swing yesterday morning.
I decided to do my shopping at the Whole Foods in Piccadilly Circus, which was both a great idea and a terrible idea. It's a great idea in that Whole Foods is all that is good in the world. It was a bad idea in that it significantly bolstered the belief I already hold that I am cooler than everyone I know. "Oh, you had a dinner party last night, too?! How great! Oh - oh, you said yours wasn't made with all organic and fair trade ingredients and free-range poultry? ...Oh."
Mostly, though, my Whole Foods experience provided me with the first very odd moment of my day. As I was meandering along, trying to look casual while desperately searching for the beans I had already unknowingly walked past six times, I noticed that I was not the only American in the store. Somewhere nearby, there was a down-home bro. "Joe Theismann, man, he was the greatest - well, no, of course he never played again after that injury!" I didn't understand much of the sports-y conversation he was having, but I knew the subject was American football and the pastime that every American but me enjoys, baseball. As he seemed to be explaining rather basic things to a British person who clearly didn't get it, I was intrigued. Eventually, I tracked the source of the bro convo: the Whole Foods deli counter guy. That's right, folks, the guy who runs the deli counter at the Whole Foods in the middle of Piccadilly Circus is a straight-up, college-aged, American bro. I have never been more confused in my entire life.
Once I picked my jaw back up from the floor, I purchased my pretentious basketful of ingredients and headed back to da Conwizzle. (Yes, I am now calling Conway Hall "da Conwizzle;" you can all thank Ms. ReNeigh I'm a Horse for that one.) From there, my setbacks were pretty shockingly few.
The first setback was a fire drill during which I and a whopping ten other people left the building. Sorry if this blog post somehow gets back to someone important and gets anyone in trouble, but I feel it should be pointed out now that if this building ever catches fire, hundreds of people will die. Death everywhere. Errbody. Since the fire alarms go off practically every time you do so much as open your bathroom door after a particularly lengthy hot shower, their efficacy at inspiring people to evacuate has been reduced to pretty much nothing. They are the fire alarms that cried wolf. I hope this building has some sort of PA system that can be invoked in the case of an actual emergency. JUSSAYIN.
Anyway, now that that PSA is over, back to my cooking. Just so everyone is aware - mother - it was not, in fact, my cooking that set off a fire alarm at any point during the day. The only thing that went wrong with my cooking was that my two pots of chili looked like entirely different substances. Same recipe. One had chicken, one didn't, and besides that, they were the exact same food. And yet, when the two pots were done simmering, the final products looked completely and utterly different from one another.
Two very different-looking chilis, all gone because they were so gosh darn tasty
Luckily, until just now when I admitted it publicly on the internet, no one actually knew that as they were eating it, so all they knew was that I had two different kinds of chili that were both pretty darn tasty and were especially nice when paired together. So take that, people who make food look pretty for a living. Take that. The other minor setback of the day was that time when I spilled champagne all over myself because I thought the bottle was empty. Eh, you win some, you lose some.
Overall, Operation Be God's Dinner Party was a wild success. I made food that didn't kill anyone, I had my very first Ben's Cookie (I know, I know) after having it delivered straight to my door, and I got to sit in my common room hanging out with fifteen of my best buds from all over Europe all night. I am a domestic goddess, my friends. Respect it.
The fruits of my first dinner party - complete with hard candy, because I am ninety years old.
I am one classy broad
GALASSO WHAT.
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