KEY POINTS:
Bit of a pot luck column, this one, because I went to a pot-luck dinner the other night - the first, in fact, that I've been to in many a year.
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of the pot luck dinner, this is where
each dinner guest is expected to front-up with a dish (as in a something-to-eat dish, rather than a dish in terms of an attractive person) and everyone takes their chances with whatever kai gets laid out on the table.
Usually everyone is assigned a specific course so that 10 people don't all turn up with pavlovas. A lot of thought is required when approaching your assigned pot luck dish.
For starters, one must consider and research the eating specifications of the other guests. Are they vegetarians? Or, worse, are they vegans and therefore don't eat actual food? Are there religious or cultural restrictions on what they can or cannot eat? Are there any potentially-fatal food allergies I should know about? Are any of them cannibals?
Actually I think the pot luck dinner must be a complete nightmare for cannibals: "Toni's made this lovely vegetarian shepherd's pie; Craig's brought along a yummy chicken thing; James and Tania have done an asparagus and leek risotto; what have you got for us Hannibal?" "I couldn't decide what to make, then a meter reader dropped round this morning so I made a casserole out of him."
You'd have to imagine that at a nice polite New Zealand pot luck dinner party the silence following such a culinary announcement would go on for some time before the host or hostess could venture a polite, "Actually, Hannibal, there are a fair few vegetarians here tonight".
"I put carrots and onions in the casserole," he'd say. This type of rejection may be one of the reasons cannibals tend to dine alone or in the company of other cannibals.
But there were, as far as I'm aware, no cannibals at the pot luck dinner I attended - or if there were, they kept their rather extreme dietary requirements very much to themselves.
One of the major problems with attending a pot luck dinner at someone else's house is getting the food there. Being responsible dinner party guests, we took ourselves and our food to the pot luck dinner by taxi. I don't think taxi drivers are too thrilled when you climb into their cab with a piping hot risotto in tow. For starters, where do you put it? In the boot? I don't think so.
Sit it on your lap and risk third-degree burns to the groin? Again, I don't think so.
On the seat beside you and burn a hole in the vinyl upholstery? All of these are important issues to consider, even before you factor in whether the food you're trying not to spill everywhere is culturally offensive to the taxi driver, which is why he is driving badly; or if it will spark a massive allergic reaction causing the taxi driver to crash the taxi; or if the taxi driver is a cannibal who is miffed that no one ever invites him/her to pot luck dinners.
Once you get your food and yourselves to the dinner, there are certain ethical and moral issues to be considered. It is the done thing, for instance, to try everyone's dish - even if you hate that particular food group.
The exceptions to this rule are vegetarians when it comes to meat dishes, those who start praying for forgiveness or run from the room at the sight of certain dishes and anything prepared by a known cannibal. So you pile up your plate with many food groups and cuisines that don't normally co-exist on the same plate.
You then have to eat equal amounts of everyone's dish, because you know everyone is watching to make sure theirs is not the dish that no one eats. There is no worse shame at a pot luck dinner than having prepared the dish that everyone rejected.
"Honestly Hannibal, I just don't think we're casserole people, that's all." "But casseroles are ideal winter food and I had to eat the vegetarian crap."
If all goes well, a sufficient amount of every dish will be consumed and no one will feel shunned and rejected. Everyone will feel bloated as a United Nations of food groups digests in their tummies; and there will be a wine-soaked happiness about the table until everyone goes home to gloat quietly that their dish was, by far, the most popular.
Except if you're a cannibal, obviously.
