Both my wife and I support numerous charities in our community, all organizations that do good work. Be it scholarships for deserving students, organizations that offer food and clothing to those in need, or help for those newly arrived in this country, we offer financial support and in some cases our time. And when our schedules permit, we gather with like-minded others to celebrate those groups and the work they do, some times as a way of raising money, other times to see the results of those efforts, and still others to socialize with fellow travelers.
The venues for those affairs vary widely, from private homes to tents to event spaces to restaurants. There's usually a program of some kind showcasing the organization's work, sometimes a sit-down meal, and occasionally an after party with dancing and more. But take a poll of those attending, and I'd venture that most would gladly pass on any or all those (and still offer the same level of support) if it stopped after the cocktail hour. And more specifically after the nibbles that we don't generally allow ourselves to have when we're on our own.
After all, the kind of people that support these organizations are at least conscious of the idea of eating a healthy diet, and try to practice it. Go out to dinner one-on-one with any of them, and they will just as likely order fish as steak, a salad as fried mozzarella sticks, a side of broccoli as a potato with butter and sour cream. That's not to say that they (and by they, I mean me) don't splurge occasionally on things they know aren't good for them. But open the cupboard at their homes, and you're more likely to find wheat crackers than cheese doodles.
But go to one of these events for the cocktail hour and all bets are off. I've never seen data matching mini pulled pork sliders with bigger donations, but it must be out there. For while there are an assortment of foods to please all palates placed or passed, there is usually no waiting for the mini kale Caesar salads, while the line for the deep-fried bacon wrapped jalapeno poppers never seems to dwindle.
Makes no difference which organization nor how they stage the event. At one end you might have a food truck like Melt Mobile with its grilled cheese variations, while black-tie mainstay caterer Abigail Kirsch offers “Suspension Grilled Cheese” which is... wait for it... grilled cheese in a suspended wire tray. But whether it's trucked in or hanging over, the item in question is far more likely to clog your arteries than a chickpea tortilla chip.
And that's how we want it. (Note I've just given up on the third person pronouns and taken ownership of the behavior.) We have nothing against the buffet near the bar with carrot sticks and pepper strips accompanied by a nice yogurt dip. But a quick circle of the room locates the charcuterie board with its bounty of pepperoni, prosciutto, salami, and mortadella. Were I in the supermarket I would gaze wistfully at those items arrayed in the deli case while ordering half-a-pound of the store baked turkey breast. But at the reception? It's MAHA be dammed as I fill my plate with processed, cured meats. And go back for seconds. And dare I say, thirds.
Even being behind the curtain on these kinds of happenings doesn't change the equation. I have worked numerous high-end events which include A-list names on the stage. The contracts of those individuals enumerate multiple details, including the hospitality to be set up in their individual dressing rooms. Generally I am too busy working to eat beforehand, and so wait till the event ends, sating my appetite post-show by scavenging their spaces after the stars have left the building. And while some dressing rooms sport crudité platers and hummus, others have barbeque and mac and cheese. It's no contest where I finally get my fill.
I guess the good news is that I'm not wealthy enough to be invited to so many galas as to ruin my health by overindulging on a regular basis. And so at home I eat my fish, grill my chicken and use low sodium soy sauce. But if you invite me to your celebration, make sure the pigs-in-a-blanket trays are filled to overflowing. You know where to find me.
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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves finger food. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.
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