The first time I invited Dennis's boss over we lived in our first little house near St. Louis and there was barely enough room for everyone to sit, much less eat, so we thought we would just have hors d'oeuvres and then go out to a restaurant. The only problem was, I didn't know exactly what an hors d'oeuvre was. Dennis took French in college but he didn't seem to know either.
I asked around where I worked. Someone said cheese fondue. I was to melt Velveeta cheese in a chafing dish, add tomato soup and dip chunks of bread in it. (Sounds yummy, doesn't it?) The problem was, I didn't know what a chafing dish was. I asked around at work. Someone said "I have a chafing dish you can borrow," and I was set.
I chopped the Velveeta into chunks before the company arrived, and when everybody got there, started melting the cheese. Now, I don't know if the chafing dish itself was faulty, or if I was not supposed to actually put it on the stove to melt the cheese in it, but just as I picked up the dish by it's wooden handle to carry it into the living room, the handle broke off, the boiling cheese splashed all over my legs (thank the Lord I was wearing thick wool pants) and all over the kitchen walls and floor. I stood there in shock with the hot cheese congealing on my legs while the boss's sweet wife got on her hands and knees and cleaned up the cheese. We decided to go to the restaurant for our hors d'oeuvres. After I changed clothes. At least we were all saved from having to eat the Velveeta/tomato soup concoction
The next time we had a boss to dinner we had moved to California and he was a single man with the interesting name of Sandy. We had a dining room for the first time. I polished all the silver and got out the good plates. It should have been simple. Steaks on the grill, baked potatoes and salad. I asked Dennis the other day if he remembered much about the evening and he said, "I don't recall much. I don't think Sandy ate much, really, after he pulled the long red hair out of his salad." Sandy was blond and Dennis had short brown hair. Hmmm. Who do you think had long, red hair at the time?
The Long-Haired Suspect and Josh
I had pretty much learned my lesson. Any food we shared with bosses from then on was eaten at restaurants. We did have that one instance when the chef quit before our food was finished and the maître d' and the restaurant owner finished cooking and hours later when we finally got our food everything tasted like combat boots a l'orange. But I had nothing to do with that! And that time the waitress quit and stormed out of the restaurant in the middle of our meal, maybe I contributed some but I think she was just having a fight with her boyfriend at the time.
So we moved to Tulsa, Dennis's boss's birthday was coming up and it seemed like a good idea to have him and his wife to dinner. (What can I say? My memory is not entirely what it should be these days.) You will be delighted to know that everything went extremely well. I spent all day making both clam chowder and home-made vegetable soup. I made both French bread and apple pie from scratch. Every one exclaimed how delicious everything was and had seconds, maybe thirds. Aside from being a little crowded in our small house, the evening was a roaring success.
A few weeks later the boss died. I swear it was not my fault!
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