Let's hear it for parties where the hosts don't cut corners

It's a pleasure to be invited to house parties where you're served canapés by liveried waiters. None of the staple potato crisps and biryani-for-all that we're so familiar with

There was a time, not so long ago, when those among us who are upwardly mobile and, more importantly, generous enough, took groups of (select) friends "out" to their fave restaurant for a night of good food, table talk and general bonhomie. (Of course, there was/is a "going Dutch" concept too: everyone pitches in for their share. or the bill is divided by number of heads, and each reveller given a number to be "taken care of/picked up" - more about the comforts/hazards of that ploy in one other column.)
Last weekend, I attended a dinner party where the restaurant experience "came home". A premium caterer helped the hosts - my friends (yes!) - organise a curated set menu for a gathering of 25-odd. Very posh it was: salmon mini cakes tossed in chipotle dip, miso-marinated chicken skewers with caramelised pineapple, lovely sounding vegan options, desserts that were titled "sweet canapés", and "foods" in "bowls" (like pad thai and smoky, roasted veggies on a bed of quinoa salad); the offerings were served by liveried waiting staff (they even wore gloves!); the service was non-intrusive and thoughtful (if you exclaimed something tasted "oh-so-good!", the cue would immediately be picked up (silently) and followed through with a re-serve); the crockery was top-notch (each carrot and hoisin dumpling, for instance, was placed in a soup spoon - how cutely chic is that?); the serviettes were spotless; the cutlery shone.
But, actually, there's nothing mint new about this 'concept'. It's been doing the rounds in gentrified circles for a while now, so maybe I shouldn't be gushing so much about this, but what to do? It was my first time (if you have any doubts about the importance of the nomenclature, do please tune in to Lobo's My First Time).
Usually, I get invited to birthday bashes and anniversary galas where 10 plates of biryani (from that value-for-money, cash-and-carry joint around the corner) are heaped on a serving tray at the centre of the dining table; appetite-crunching crunchies like banana fritters and chilli-coated chips (both from the grocery store downstairs) are passed around frantically in the hope that 10 plates of biryani suffice for 20 heads.
Heck, I've followed the same 'party food template' myself. "Remember, carbs really fill you up - so if you want guests to eat less of the mains (er, the biryani), stuff 'em with loads of potato fritters and finger sandwiches. just get some cheap cheese and slap it between crust-less slices of bread: people eat anything, nobody will notice," my friend WhatsApped me all the way from the US when I told her I feared the amount of biryani I'd ordered may not be adequate to satiate hunger pangs of guests descending shortly. I did exactly what she asked me to, and it worked like magic (I even managed to save a plate to take care of my next-day lunch).
There you go: that's my social standing, and so much for my social graces.
Which is why it was such a pleasure to attend a house party way out of my league. To be an outlier.
Other than enjoying my sense of alienation (at times, I felt like I was a fly on the wall in a lab where one of mankind's greatest gastro-social experiments was being conducted), I loved the fact that my hosts' pet Labrador was having a field day that night. He roamed around freely among guests who were delicately biting into rice bran crackers topped generously with cauliflower hummus and pickled carrots, looked longingly at skewers of green Tabasco-smeared crunchy prawns, and finally made culinary peace nibbling on freshly-mowed greens in the garden.
When I asked the hostess how many portions she'd ordered for, she said, 25 (including vegetarian and vegan). "I was estimating a total of about 20, so rounded it off to 25," she said. "Didn't want to cut corners." Fixed price. Fixed hourly rates for serving staff. Cutlery/crockery all rented from the caterer. Breakage factored in. "Wanted it to be different, so no compromises."
"Hear, hear," I raised my crystal flute (that they own). "Here's to more of 'carefully curated'."
Sushmita is Editor, wknd. She has a penchant for analysing human foibles
 sushmita@khaleejtimes.com
 
 
 

• Food and Dining