Bits and pieces
Pamela Vandyke Price
The Spanish have tapas, the Italians antipasti, the Scandinavians snitter (which is scaled-down smorrebrod), the Greeks have me„zedhes, and the French hors d'oeuvre. (Of course the French would indulge in culinary selfdeprecation by describing this course as "outside the real nosh".) Anyway, they all have it. Whereas the British, only vaguely recognising the need for blotting-paper to accompany althaholic intake, refer weakly to 'nibbles', and the Americans, although they have invented the 'dip', straddle ineffectually between the French and English languages with the canape and the relish.
Now why, in a country where the climate has always encouraged survival by drink, should we so seldom offer more than nut, olive and crisp? Is this a survival of one of the stern Anglo-Saxon traditions that compelled the entrant to Thing Hall or the Beowulf Arms to drain the proffered mammoth horn to the dregs so as to indicate confidence to the profferer? Or have our licensing laws always been so oppressive that, even when we are allowed drink, we feel we must hurry up and get it inside? True, sherry as served to our grandparents was often accompanied by a biscuit placed over the top of the glass — the word ..tapa' means 'a cover' — and I am told that occasionally even now a barmaid trained in traditional ways will do this. But generally we reserve our 'nibbles' for that trial by trotter, ear and temper, the 'drinks party', and keep our 'first courses' austerely within the prawn cocktail, smoked salmon, melon and ham or soup circuit, with a few tentative ventures into pate.
Perhaps we have reserved our inventiveness as regards bits and pieces for the 'savoury', a course which doesn't exist in the culinary traditions of any other country? Or maybe we prudently realise that too rash a ranging over the hors d'oeuvre trolley may prevent justice being done to what I am bound to term the 'main course', as, no matter how many readers write saying how much they dislike the expression, not one has deigned to let me know which one they think I ought to use.
For reasons of economy, space, time and because hospitality today does manifest itself in forms other than specific meals, I think that the offer of several pre-prepared dishes by way of accompaniment to drinks is a good idea; people sitting around and talking can help themselves to much or little and the choice of food that isn't all combined with bread, toast, biscuits or similar carbohydrate means that guests can satisfy hunger without dissatisfying the scales. The careful selection of dishes should provide protein, so that there need be no post-prandial mutterings about 'rabbit food' and, as an agreeable alternative to a buffet, it is possible to help oneself separately from a number of dishes if these are simply presented in smallish containers, instead of piling up a plate with mounds of sontethhig from an enormous dish, for fear that supplies may run out before one has a chance to get a second helping.
As the origin of the Mediterranean type of informal refreshments with drinks was certainly not in the homes of the wealthy, another advantage about this sort of entertaining is that costs can be kept low and there is little waste — if anything is left over, it will not immediately spoil. Guard against too much of one kind of food — if you have an egg mayonnaise or spiced egg sauce with flaked fish, then don't also offer Russian salad. If one dish is predominantly flavoured with tomatoes, or luscious with oil, keep these ingredients out of others, or at last let them appear only discreetly. Don't serve dishes uniformly sloppy in texture and go easy on any salad — this is not the kind of meal for huge bowls of greenery.
I have been pondering the sort of selection I have found guests enjoy when they are invited `to drinks' and when I know we will want to sit down and talk as well. All can be eaten with a fork, and if you want to cut out the washing-up there are well-designed disposable plates available from most stationers (disposable forks too). Wholemeal roles, or the flat pitta (the bread that can be sliced to form a pocket for kebabs bought at the roadside and which can be found at Greek or Cyprus food stores) are suitable as 'pushers' or for mopping up sauces. Here is my list:
Large tomatoes, halved, scored several times, flavoured with salt. pepper, lemon juice, a smear, of garlic, chopped parsley, grilled until slightly charred, served hot or cold; ratatouille; cold mushroom salad (shake the mushrooms in butter, season, add a squeeze of lemon and paprika); aubergine stuffed with meat and rice (there are many recipes); slices of mozzarella cheese plain or with a little origano (there is now an acceptable Danish version of this); florets of lightly-. cooked cauliflower, sprinkled with chopped hardboiled eggs; slices of avocado in a lemon dressing topped with toasted split almqnds; Elizabeth David's recipe fo‘the gratin of courgettes and tomatoes (to be found in French Provincial Cooking), which is delicious hot or cold; thinly-sliced kipper fillets; small pieces of lightly grilled lambs' liver turned in a dressing of seasoned orange and lemon juice, with chopped onion cooked in butter; and Munkaczina, the orange and .onion salad with black olives for which Mrs David gives the recipe in Spices, Salt and Aromatics in an English Kitchen.
Additions such as assorted nuts, black and green olives, cucumber slices, gherkins, radishes (undistorted by 'fancy' cutting, please), and if you can get it, bowls of the thick uncommercial yogurt, such as would be served in kGreek or Turkish restaurant, are agreeable, but only three or four of any of these things makes a meal that is more • than just acceptable. Note — no pate, no ordinary salads to get tired, no expenditure on costly tinned ingredients. To drink: generous quantities of a Mediterranean wine, from Greece, Cyprus, Tunis, Sicily or Morocco.
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