The Host With The Most

So last week we had a party to celebrate my W over Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  Since I find myself without much to write about today I thought I'd fill you in on the details.  We started the party relatively early as I almost never make it past eleven o'clock anymore.  It turns out that was about the perfect time to call it as most of those in attendance have reached the "responsible drinker" phase of their lives.  I had been warned about this phase of life dozens of times by several people but I never thought it would strike down so many at such a young age.  I'll have to keep this affliction in mind the next time we have a gathering as we are now left with a small corner bar's worth of hard liquor.

My first word of advice to anyone having a party is don't bother cooking if you have invited a burgeoning celebrity chef.  Without exaggeration, no one, not a single person, not a soul, will eat the food you made.  Until, that is, they realize the Cancer Patient made a dish (admittedly not my best effort, maybe a little too dry) so they then feel compelled to eat some.  I'm never opposed to cheap sympathy or easy pity.  As a matter of fact, I try to cultivate it whenever I can.  What other way to get people to do things for you that you are perfectly capable yet too lazy to do?  But not when it comes to my cooking!  I know I'm no five star chef like my long time friend (we'll call him Gourmet Biker) but as far as party food goes it wasn't that bad?  Was it?  Okay, it may have been. 

Gourmet Biker whipped up quiet possibly the best chicken tacos I've ever eaten.  I know, right?  Tacos, how simple can you get?  And that's why it was so freakin unbelievable.  Off the charts good.  The Lovely Girlfriend and I have feasted on a number of occasions at both Gourmet Biker and his wife's place (we'll call her Dead Red) and at his restaurant down in Redondo.  We will be at his restaurant tonight for a wine dinner.  From what I understand a winery rep will be hosting and Gourmet Biker will be serving a pairing menu.  I'm not certain what to expect other than spectacular food and amazing wine.  I will be sure to fill you all in on the details of it at some point soon.

But this posting is about my Cancer Party not how incredible Gourmet Biker may be with a skillet.  So beside my piles of leftover pulled pork the party was the perfect chance for me to suck the marrow clean out of the bone of sympathy.  I had toyed with the idea of getting some kind of bald cap and cane then descending the staircase painfully slow as everyone wondered if I'd make it down without passing out only to break into a jig at the last step.  Then it occurred to me that would be remarkably similar to the super annoying Six Flags commercial with the creepy old man.  So instead I dressed in my standard flannel shirt and looked like someone that isn't sick at all.  Bad play on my part.  I hardly got an ounce of sympathy.  Instead most everyone told me I looked great (they aren't lying, I do) and if they didn't know I had been sick they wouldn't believe it.  What kind of bullshit is that?!  I deserve far more pity!  I should be doted on.  We will be having another party in a couple of months after I go through radiation and get my first clean bill of health so you people should consider yourself warned.  You come to my cancer party you better damn well be prepared to blather on and on about how incredible I am to beat a cancer that almost everyone beats!