843

Monday offered me a chance to alleviate my out of work boredom with some work. A friend and I are putting in a bid to cater someone's wedding in January. The bride is an incredibly nice girl we know, who has a flaw particularly bad for things like being a bride, she is notoriously indecisive. It's not that she cannot pick what she wants so much as she has no idea what it is she wants. Her soon to be mother-in-law will actually be the person deciding on the caterer; however, so it will probably come down to pricing more than anything else.

We have each catered things before, and are famous amongst our friends for putting up the best fare at parties. (I once did a ten course dinner just to see what it was like. It's like washing a lot of dishes--some halfway through even--in case you're curious.) We have both sold Pampered Chef before, and so have just about every tool known to the kitchen kingdoms. Of course, as it's not our wedding we have no real power over the menu, but even more interestingly for us, neither of us have cooked for 300 people before. To give us yet another twist, the recpetion hall has no facilities for our use other than one standard home fridge and a couple of outlets. Thank goodness for crock-pots, sterno and buffet servers.

I'm looking over the menu as we make out the ingredient list before heading off to Sam's and such to do some pricing. What kinds of veggies does she want on the veggie tray? Does she want dip with the chips? Does she actually mean to have both the little smokies and the meatballs in bbq sauce? And is cheese tray a cheese ball, dip, sliced cheese for the little sandwhiches, cubes, or some combination therein?

A quick phone call gets our answers, the meatballs get some marinara, and we're doing cubes for the cheese tray. Quickly before we get off the phone I ask my partner, "how many types of cheese would she like to see on the tray?" I know some people think pepper jack a practical joke for bars, and other feel it akin to angelic visitation.

My partner's face smirks a bit as she looks at me over her pink Razr phone and asks, "The bride wants to know how many cheeses there are."

With a straight face, lost completely on the bride who cannot see me, I say, "Oh, 'bout 843. Give or take."

I have no idea how many cheeses there are, but there are alot. Then you get into marbled combinations, smoked varieties, herb flavored, salmon enhanced, fois gras fused...I mean 843 might be way too concervative a number really. I know I should be more helpful for the poor girl, but the only thing that wants to come out now is some version of,

"Well I reckon there's white, orange, and the yeller kind. Plus the mixed." And even then that's unfairly not recognizing the type shot out of cans like silly string during slumber parties.

It's not like the bride is stupid or anything, she's just not very worldly. In middle class southern Indiana, white, yellow, or peppered is a valid way of ordering the cheese on your burger. I'm sure if she stopped and thought about it, instead of us waylaying her in a phone call in the middle of her day, she'd know she uses parmesan on her spaghetti, mozz in her lasagna.

In the end its to be pepper jack, colby/jack marbled, and mild cheddar, a perfectly reasonable mix for an inexpensive wedding. But I must admit, I'm very tempted to tell the bride it will be brie, muenster, and velveeta--just to see her face.

This is how I picture the reply in my head,"Well velveeta's good, but I don't know if my new husband likes monster cheese."