Rewind to September. The International Students organization hosted a Finnish dinner. Somehow my innocent offer to "help cook" at the next International student dinner transformed into "plan, shop, cook, and host" when another American also offered to help cook.
Which explains why one Saturday morning found us in a common kitchen, surrounded by towers of canned goods. I was chopping a mountain of onions while Alistair browned onions and Paulina scrubbed potatoes. "What can I do?" Jonathan asked. "You can open the crushed tomatoes" I said, searching for my pocket knife. I knew I'd left it somewhere and none of us had brought a real can opener. Fifteen cans later, plus 15 cans of kidney beans and pounds of green peppers, onions, and ground beef later, our chili for 50 was simmering on the stove.
As it simmered, we hung stars from the ceiling, rearranged furniture, and set the tables. Five o'clock and the place was decorated and the food almost ready. We were ahead of the game. I slipped home to change and got back in time to help with the appetizers.
As guests came through the door I stuck a name on their back, giggling a bit at some of the mismatches. "Oh, this one's perfect for you" as I stuck Princess Jasmine on a very decidedly not princess like man's back. They were instructed to figure out who they were by asking questions, and then to find the person who had their match. It was our cleverly designed ploy to require guests to mingle. And it worked. :) The food helped too. Chips and dip and pigs in a blanket seemed like perfect American party foods, but we had to supplement them with the most quintessential American ingredient we could think of: peanut butter.
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| The quintessential American ingredient in 2 very school child forms |
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| The room, ready for guests. |
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| Mingling |
Once everyone had found their partner, we lined them up for contra-dancing. Alistair (my token American friend and partner in crime, or event planning, whichever the case might be) also happens to play the fiddle. So, he explained the steps as we tried to maneuver around each other in a room most certainly not designed for 25 couples to dance in. We had to restart from the beginning multiple times before we made it through the first set of steps, but when we managed it successfully, the whole group spontaneously burst into applause.
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| Some of the awesome people who helped |
Ice thoroughly broken now, we sent people in to find a seat and served chili and baked potatoes. I found an empty seat at a table of French speakers from France, Switzerland and Belgium to eat some chili, then got up to help get dessert ready. While pancakes aren't traditionally a dessert, everyone loves them, and most of the rest of the world eats crepes, not our fat, puffy, wonderful pancakes. To make things even better, we served them with maple syrup and whipped cream. I joined a table with people from Azerbaijan, Chile, Romania and Albania for the dessert course. And may or may not have finished off all the whipped cream in the bowl when the pancakes were gone. . .
Which explains why one Saturday morning found us in a common kitchen, surrounded by towers of canned goods. I was chopping a mountain of onions while Alistair browned onions and Paulina scrubbed potatoes. "What can I do?" Jonathan asked. "You can open the crushed tomatoes" I said, searching for my pocket knife. I knew I'd left it somewhere and none of us had brought a real can opener. Fifteen cans later, plus 15 cans of kidney beans and pounds of green peppers, onions, and ground beef later, our chili for 50 was simmering on the stove. 
