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Trial by convection oven
Oct. 25th, 2010 07:41 pmI worked my first church supper yesterday, under the watchful, migraine-watery eye of the Chairwoman of Sighs. There's a lot I don't know (for instance, evidently the One Right Way of folding tablecloths is one of the Secrets of the Fellowship Committee), but I think I've got the cast of characters figured out.
You've got your Cheerful Workers. You've got your Friendly Socializers, for whom a hot pan can't stand in the way of a hug. You've got your Improvers, with a kindly word of advice for everyone, at all times, whether anyone asked for it or not, and particularly when it's already too late to change things. You've got your Volunteer Martyrs, who come in despite poor health because they can't bear to let anyone down, doing baffling things because they're not feeling well and thus not thinking well. You've got the fluttery-handed Willing But Helpless ones, who stand in the path of traffic and wait for someone to tell them what to do. You've got the Single-Minded, who choose one small detail (the cleanliness of the fronts of the cabinets, the latching of the back door, the supply of pepper in the pepper shakers) and see to it fiercely, oblivious to all else.
Me myself, I aspire to be an Invisible Hand when I'm in a kitchen not my own -- the one who notices when the pan of potatoes you're dishing out of is empty and whisks a full one into its place between the lifting and the lowering of the spoon. My mother and I used to cook together before I moved away. I miss it.
I believe the Chairwoman of Sighs thought I was going to be Willing But Helpless. At the end of the dinner, she said, "You've never worked with us before, so I wasn't sure, but I knew you'd be OK when you showed up with your own knife* and started smashing garlic cloves."
The first dinner I'll be in charge of is in January, but since it's the Annual Meeting, the menu is traditional (you might almost say it's liturgical) and the procedure is well-honed. My real test will be in February. Oh, the checklists I will make and the pre-chopping I will do! It's an odd thing to admit, but I'm looking forward to it.
Maybe if I get started, I can find some fellow cooks who sing.
You've got your Cheerful Workers. You've got your Friendly Socializers, for whom a hot pan can't stand in the way of a hug. You've got your Improvers, with a kindly word of advice for everyone, at all times, whether anyone asked for it or not, and particularly when it's already too late to change things. You've got your Volunteer Martyrs, who come in despite poor health because they can't bear to let anyone down, doing baffling things because they're not feeling well and thus not thinking well. You've got the fluttery-handed Willing But Helpless ones, who stand in the path of traffic and wait for someone to tell them what to do. You've got the Single-Minded, who choose one small detail (the cleanliness of the fronts of the cabinets, the latching of the back door, the supply of pepper in the pepper shakers) and see to it fiercely, oblivious to all else.
Me myself, I aspire to be an Invisible Hand when I'm in a kitchen not my own -- the one who notices when the pan of potatoes you're dishing out of is empty and whisks a full one into its place between the lifting and the lowering of the spoon. My mother and I used to cook together before I moved away. I miss it.
I believe the Chairwoman of Sighs thought I was going to be Willing But Helpless. At the end of the dinner, she said, "You've never worked with us before, so I wasn't sure, but I knew you'd be OK when you showed up with your own knife* and started smashing garlic cloves."
The first dinner I'll be in charge of is in January, but since it's the Annual Meeting, the menu is traditional (you might almost say it's liturgical) and the procedure is well-honed. My real test will be in February. Oh, the checklists I will make and the pre-chopping I will do! It's an odd thing to admit, but I'm looking forward to it.
Maybe if I get started, I can find some fellow cooks who sing.
* Best way to transport a big knife that doesn't have its own blade guard? With the blade stuck between the pages of a cookbook.