Suzy’s Party: A Christmas Tale

And so it is Christmas, as the song says. There’s another song that goes, “Wasn’t That a Party?”

The party I remember was at my friend Suzy’s house, this time last year. She’s the friend who can hold a party in a broom closet, except the broom closet (and all the other closets) were full of wine. She’d stocked up.

“The party’s in the kitchen,” yelled Suzy, every time the front door opened. Meanwhile a couple of dozen early guests and two cats jostled for standing room and made bold grabs at slivers of air-cured ham Suzy was handing out on the business end of a sharp knife. The ham, probably smuggled home from Italy (just kidding, I’m sure she declared the ham, along with the truffle, the other ham and the fabulous cheese we ate later) was delicious.

“We’re having pasta,” Suzy shouted above the rising tumult. “Somebody near the stove should stir something,” she caroled. Champagne flowed, and more food arrived with more guests: someone sailed in with a still-warm jar of delicious preserved duck.

“Duck confit,” screamed three women all at the same time, lunging for the jar. Only in Suzy’s kitchen would that be likely to happen.

As the duck was being scooped onto a platter, along came the fish.

“Salmon, just out of my smoker,” said the fisherman, but nobody heard him. (Fortunately I read lips.) The salmon was delicious with crème fraîche. And the party got louder.

There was some evidence that we’d eventually eat dinner, as one of Suzy’s famous tables stretched through the dining room, the living room, and all the way to the front door. Not strictly a table, but several tables, had been wedged together under a vast length of white cloth. Fresh cedar garlands wound along the middle, and when somebody lit a dozen or so tea lights and nestled them in the greenery, the effect was magical. Steve, Suzy’s smart-ass cat and a terrible showoff, couldn’t resist a Garfield-strut down the middle of the table, but the candles singed his belly so he left.

Meanwhile more wine flowed and we all shouted stories of past parties at Suzy’s place. They were mostly true, and a lot of them involved fire.

“Remember when she lit all those candles by the front door, and the step started to burn?” At least six guests remembered having put it out.

“Remember the pizza fire in the barbecue? When the crust went up in flames?” A dozen people claimed to have doused that one.

“Remember when some woman got locked in the bathroom and we had to take the door off?“ We all remembered helping.

“Remember…?“ And so forth.

“Pasta,” shouted our hostess. “Oh fudge, I forgot to pick up the pasta…“ Nobody was surprised, and a guest was dispatched to the Italian Centre. Dinner, when we finally ate it, was worth the wait.

Suzy throws a memorable party. That’s why we love her. Not for her organizational skills or her punctuality or the splendid condition of her car, nor even for her food, good as it is, but for her great generosity and her warm heart.

Merry Christmas, from Suzy (she’ll text her greetings later) and the rest of us who are lucky enough to call her a friend.

— Judy Schultz
Check out Judy’s blog, judyink.ca.