HORS D’OUEVRES
Our first dinner party with two other couples was something of a disaster. Fortunately we had all known each other for years and no one expected much. Exactly the right attitude; by the end of the evening they had not been fed, but were too drunk to care.
This less than memorable event was held a month after we were married. My cooking skills were still in the dark ages but with Mrs. Rombauer and the “Joy of Cooking” at my elbow, how could I possibly fail? Easy, and it was really Mrs R’s fault.
We never had guests for dinner when I lived at home. Occasionally, Lena would have an old friend who was given the same swill we “enjoyed” nightly. In that little Dutch, Protestant town it was customary to invite guests for coffee and store purchased cake after Sunday night church services or for an evening of cards on weekdays, followed by cake and coffee. There was no cocktail hours, or hors d’oeuvres as we know them.
I might point out, though, while the church forbade such “devil inspired” behavior like dancing, buying anything on Sunday, and the like, smoking, drinking and some card playing were tolerated. My father served muscatel wine before Sunday dinner. It was horrible, sweet, cloying but capable of providing a bit of a kick to teen-agers. Someplace along the line, he discovered Manhattans were more than capable of making those card parties more lively. They played a card game called “Rook” which obviously had the approval of the church fathers.
In the l950’s and 60’s the drink to serve at bars and cocktail parties were Manhattans and Martinis. There was also “highballs” usually rye and ginger or for the more sophisticated, Scotch and soda. Rum and coke was a favorite with teen-agers. The drinking age in New Jersey was 21, but it was simple to go over the New York state line where the age, at that time, was 18.
Lew did not drink or smoke at all, ever. Rumor was that his father was rabid on the subject of these “vices”. His two sons received long lectures on the matter and for some reason, neither of them ever strayed from the straight and narrow path. When any guest ever came to their home, according to Lew, and dared to smoke his father, even in the dead of winter, opened all the windows in the house and kept them open. I am assuming the guilty party got the message and never showed up again.
With this background, the first dinner party was a matter for considerable discussion. All of us, with the exception of Lew, drank Manhattans. Since I knew little about canapes and other tasty morsels, I dutiful agreed with my husband, “just have pigs in the blanket.”
“What are pigs in the blanket?”
“Small hot dogs wrapped in dough; very popular at Jewish weddings.”
“Only at Jewish weddings?” I inquired. Dutch weddings did not have cocktails, much less covered hotdogs. There usually was a room with a bottle of liquor for men only “to enjoy a shot.”
“Van it’s a common food to serve with drinks.” Lew looked somewhat chagrined as he defended the lowly pig in the blanket, “Besides that, I love hot dogs.”
“But where do I get the dough?” The only answer was a shrug of the shoulders. Neither the “Joy of Cooking “ or “The Fannie Farmer” Cookbook were helpful. The latter defined a “pig in the blanket” as an oyster wrapped in bacon. Now how could I do that? Besides, who liked oysters? My recollection is that with the help of a friend, I removed the crusts from slices of Wonder Bread, rolled them sort of flat with a rolling pin and brushed them with melted butter. I cut an ordinary hot dog into two pieces and wrapped them with a slice of the prepared bread. Eventually, they were baked in the oven.
I did a test run and showed the finished product to Lew. “It isn’t right. You’re suppose to use those little hot dogs and wrap them in a dough. That looks like bread. Are the hot dogs Kosher?”
“No Lew, because we’re not Kosher and yes, the hot dogs are mostly pork just like the bologna we eat on sandwiches. I didn’t get those little hot dogs because they cost too much. Taste one and stop complaining.”
Three samples later, “They really are good. Not like the pigs or blankets I’ve ever had.”
Shortly after this, a dough in a can, actually meant to make biscuits, was introduced to the food market. We quickly learned it could be rolled out to make pigs in the blanket, a great improvement on the soft, mushy bread.
Next, how to make a Manhattan, which if you recall, is a dreadful drink. I remember looking it up in “The Joy” and Mrs. Rombauer’s instructions were somewhat vague in that they called for 1 to 2 jiggers of dry vermouth, 6 to 7 jiggers of bourbon or rye, a dash of angostura bitters to be added to each drink along with a maraschino cherry. But there was no indication as to how many servings this made. Five people would be drinking, I reasoned, and jiggers seemed to be small. On that basis, I tripled the recipe in my only glass pitcher.
My recollection of the main dish is vague. I am sure it was a “Tuna Fish Wiggle” casserole, one of the few things, at that point, that I knew how to make. Maybe it was served with those baby canned peas, LeSeur, and a limp salad. Never mind, no one ever got to eat it except perhaps Lew.
The guests arrived and the Manhattans flowed like water. Why not, our first dinner party was underway. The pigs in the blanket disappeared quickly. Everyone was happy; an hour passed like a minute. But Lew was giving me hand signals to meet him in the tiny kitchen.
“Van, we have to eat. People are drinking too many Manhattans, someone is going to get sick.”
“You’re a party pooper. We’re fine, just relaxing. Besides who wants a tuna casserole.”
I returned to the living room and poured more drinks. It was a disaster. The food wasn’t served. The guests, at that point, could not have seen it and certainly would their fork would never have reached their mouth. Conversation was slurred and I felt the room go round and round. Obviously, it was going to be the dinner party that never got beyond the cocktails.
The scary thing is that Lew helped every one downstairs and they left to drive home. Fortunately nothing happened; unfortunately it continued for many years to be a time when people drank and drove without a clear understanding of what could and did happen.
The next morning was not pleasant. It was a Saturday, but I worked as a newspaper reporter and had to be at the office. Aching head not withstanding, I arrived at 7:30 and of course, my two friends from the evening before debacle were on hand, just as miserable as I was.
When I returned home, Lew had the new rules ready. “Van, in the future, we’ll be doing a lot of entertaining. But we cannot have a two hour cocktail hour, with too much liquor and not enough food. You have to learn not to make killer drinks or just set up a bar, and let people do it themselves.” Properly chastised, I can happily report the incident was never repeated.
These recipes for hors d’oeurves have served me long and well. In most cases, they involve a minimum of preparation. Some can be made in larger batches, frozen, and used as needed. Others are one shot dips or spreads or pates. A few are definitely “oldies but goodies.” Where did they originate? Who knows. Those were the days when we exchanged recipes freely. Some I made up from scratch or in come cases, improved on basic ingredients. Solomon, in the Old Testament book Ecclesiastes, said wisely,(what would you expect from the reportedly wisest man in the world) “There is nothing new under the sun”. Somehow, some place we are eating the same thing as the caveman, in a more polished and sophisticated form to be sure, but you can bet your bottom dollar that it was always a woman in the cave preparing the fare.
I can’t just slide into recipes without getting into the matter of dazzling dips and dunks. They are totally unsophisticated, you can buy them pre-prepared in any gourmet store at excessive prices and for whatever reason, people like them.
But suppose you do not have these ready made wonders. You never got to the store that day. It was that night that a few neighbors dropped in and hungry grandparents arrived on the scene. What’s in the refrig?
Sour cream, yogurt, cream cheese, heavy sweet cream, mayo always seem to be on the shelves along with other helpful items to add taste and texture. You can simply combine sour cream or yogurt or cream cheese, come of each or only one, with sliced scallions, chopped onions, seeded and chopped tomatoes, relish, canned tuna fish, canned chopped clams, anchovies, chopped hard boiled eggs, minced olives, green or black or both, grated cheese, leftover vegetables, cooked or raw and whatever. And don’t forget that old standby, an envelope of dried onion soup mixture mixed with a cup or so of sour cream. Combine what you will by hand, in the blender or in the food processor until the desired texture is attained. Gather together reasonably fresh chips, crackers, pita bread or even some hastily toasted staler bread, cut into suitable sizes and you have a feast, if not for a king, at least for people who dare drop in at the end of a busy day without warning.
Is it gourmet? Certainly not. But generations of people on the run have found that in situations where time is of the essence, a tasty dip will do. Good wine and a well made cocktail will make them delicious.
But beyond the “throw it together” fare, I have included in the recipes some classic dips and spreads that require a little more time and energy to raise them above the ordinary.
We all loved hot hor’douvres which went well beyond the tired and true pigs in the blanket. My friend, Judy, and I would regularly set aside two or three afternoons a month to make and freeze them. It was worth listening to screaming, fighting and irritable kids in the background just to know that our freezers were bulging with goodies. Our favorites were small quiche Lorraine tarts in cream cheese dough.
We became familiar with phyllo sheets and learned to fill them with everything from cheese to chicken liver to caviar to every kind of mushroom. But it was an incredible amount of work and by that time we were getting older and the “do it yourself” philosophy was wearing thin along with our patience. By the late 1970’s more and more specialty shops and yes, supermarkets also, were presenting full lines of these filled pastry appetizers. Judy and I quickly figured our that if we considered ingredients and labor the commercial product cost less than ours.
Today I don’t make these delightful little tidbits much anymore. I find that a plate of good cheese, served with an array of crackers and breads, is a crowd pleaser. There is a tendency to make a beeline for the “hot little numbers” and before long you are wondering how you will be able to eat dinner. It’s like going to a wedding reception where the cocktail hour offerings outshine the sit down feast yet to come.
Of course, I still occasionally get a yen for the old days and will make up a great hors’douvre to serve with drinks. But just one. Not five or ten. If the plate is scraped clean, I assume it was a success, but that it is also time to eat dinner.
Whether you buy or make is your choice. I have had the best of those two worlds and given the opportunity would do it all over again. Creating those little things permitted me to create and experiment and enjoy the satisfaction of having all that food, ready to eat, in the freezer. But it’s not worth it. When I hear shoppers in front of a freezer case discussing the high prize of a variety of pastry appetizers, I am sorely tempted to say to them, “It’s a lot cheaper than doing it at home.” I don’t, who would believe me anyway?
Cocktail party offerings
Spinach Dip
True Tapenade
Van’s Tapenade
Egg plus
Smoked salmon plate
Tex/Mex
Baked stuffed clams
Sugar peas with lemon sauce
Faux pate
Deviled Eggs
Eggs Russe
Mini quiche lorraine