Growing up as a kid, I remember my mom and dad throwing a lot of parties. They were the kind of folks who liked to “entertain”. It seems nobody entertains like my parents these days. It was usually on a Friday or Saturday night – my mom would order pizza – her hair in rollers – and my brothers and sisters and I would eat before 6. Immediately after dinner, it was bath time. Once upstairs we’d be relegated to the master bedroom and forced to watch The Brady Bunch on the black and white TV set.
Unless we were dying, we were not to set foot on the stairs – God help us if we ever set foot on the first floor.
Sometimes we’d sit at the top of the stairs and listen in on the festivities. I knew when mom had one too many Manhattans because she’d whoop it up – her laugh was the loudest. You knew things were getting good – the noise level would increase and the laughter became louder and more frequent. It wasn’t a real party unless the cigarette smoke began to linger in the upstair’s hallway.
Everybody liked my parent’s parties.
I remember one party in particular – it was a family party – a rare event – the kids were included. My mom was the consummate hostess – she used to use the “good stuff” – silver-plated footed bowls for snacks, sterling silver cutlery and china for dinner. Back then when people entertained, it was more of a production. Mom could have won an Oscar – everything was just so.
Even at a young age, I was a rabble rouser. My younger brother Mark and I concocted a plan to replace the mixed nuts in one of the silver bowls with a spicer snack – something with more kick – one that would really add some zest and zing to the cocktail hour.
Our secret? Why Gravy Train dog kibbles of course.
Mark was instructed to nonchalantly remove the bowl from the Read more