Perfect a potluck party
Perhaps this time could be, would be different, you think. The usual trawling of websites and cookbooks starts; learnings from Barry Schwartz’s Paradox of Choice threatening to overwhelm.
After canvassing opinions from apathetic friends, who accuse you of ‘‘over-thinking’’ it, you settle on a dish, jot down your shopping list, and tootle to the requisite two to three
After a few hours at the shops followed by another few in the kitchen, you’ve created an ironically disproportionate number of dishes in pursuit of ‘‘bringing a plate’’. The familiar feeling of a task being more trouble than it’s worth begins brewing in your head.
You have spent the better part of a Saturday afternoon preparing for an event you’re now unsure you even want to attend.
You attend the event anyway.
Your worst fears are realised. You spend the evening shooting furtive glances at a table laden with dishes, largely also comprising Israeli couscous or similar ‘‘exotic’’ grains.
Your contribution to the spread, its jaunty sprig of curly parsley wilting on top, goes untouched by guests other than you.
You accidentally get the crowd favourite – chilli con carne – on your person, but you stay until someone whips out a guitar and attempts a rousing rendition of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song. You cover your exotic grains with a crumpled piece of clingfilm that’s no longer particularly clingy, and go home.
The potential perils of the potluck are, of course, part of the attraction.
‘‘By definition, true potluck means taking your chances, and if that means ending up having peanut butter on toast, so be it,’’ says Lucy Corry, food writer and contributor to Stuff.
‘‘It’s the company you eat with that counts, right?’’ she says.
Sally Butters, food editor for NZ House & Garden, is similarly pragmatic, offering a mantra for the over-thinkers among us.
‘‘They’re meant to be relaxed affairs...
‘‘No one ever starves, and who cares if you have three potato salads or too many desserts?’’ she says. ‘‘It’s only one meal in your lifetime.’’