About a week before the last year's dinner I realized that everyone had rsvp'd positively for themselves plus extra company. I started getting panicky, and I sent out lines for help. A guy I was dating made himself available every hour of every day. He was ready to drive anywhere for supplies, shape potato pancakes, chop onions, strain stock, take out trash, anything.
I was glad for this help, but wasn't feeling swept away by the romance. The day before (a 14-16 hour prep day in the kitchen) the guy and I decided to order a pizza on break. I remember him looking at me amorously while we waited for the delivery guy, and I remember my nerves snapping. I spontaneously broke up with him on the spot, before the pizza arrived. He stuck around and ate a slice before leaving. The leftover pizza was given to the next set of helping hands. It was nicknamed "the heartbreak pizza" for its place in my relationship.
This year I am challenged (only by myself) to maintain the tradition of generous quantities of food. Rather then spending all together too much time sweating and breaking my back in the kitchen I decided this year will be make-your own damn pizza and antipasto. One food with endless combinations. Advance plans to pickle and jar my own vegetables and sauce are on their way. Simplified, I provide, you decide. It will be more fun. Everyone helps. It will help clear my conscious and palate of the heartbreak pizza.
extra note: Does The New Yorker read my mind? Sometimes yes.
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