Sunday, March 28, 2010
Fear of Finger Food
Having been invited recently to a sporting event (oh fantastic!) under the promise of free food and booze by my work superiors I had no choice but to trundle along. I was advised that this social event would be at a large stadium and lunch would be served in a box. A corporate box. I soon learn that this box they refer to is a room where companies host little civilised soirees whilst young angry men run around below on the grass with a ball and punch each other. Upon arrival, freshly made coffees are provided by a freshly produced service attendant followed by champagne and canapes. The shiny glass canape tray comes around several times with miniature versions of adult food that look like they have been prepared by Barbie herself. Tiny weenie sandwiches and dwarfed puff pastries circle the room along with the standard introductions. As the food continues to appear from the kitchen the dishes become more and more intricate as we wrestle with glass in one hand and mini rack of lamb in the other. The trouble with eating standing up is that, well basically it's almost impossible without a paperbag. As you work hard on your delivery of amusing but informative banter meanwhile juggling the peking duck pancake without spilling hoisin sauce down your smart but casual shirt front you are becoming more and more conscious that the spring onion garnish is firmly lodged between your two front teeth. Finger food is man's food. They have the ability or lack of inhibition to wolf it down in one go without so much as a flake of choux escaping south. Me, no matter how tightly it's wrapped, rolled or skewered it will launch itself from my mouth like shortcrust confetti. So I end up making my food selections based on portability. Will the mini hamburger hold up under 2 bites or will it collapse and catapult onto my CEO's Van Heusen? I recall a seminar a few years back when I was lucky enough to be having an in depth conversation with the guest speaker when I tipped my entire glass of orange juice all over her hand. I was so mortified I couldn't speak and just stood there looking at her. She was gracious enough make a joke and reach for a napkin then politely found a reason to walk away since no apology was forthcoming from this woman just standing there, mouth open and empty glass. Perhaps I should research my invites a little further and investigate if in fact there is food and seating provided. Failing that I could bring along my own stable table, that might work!