Some years ago, with friends moving out of town and changes in relationships happening for one reason or another, I stopped having dinner parties. I never had more than a handful of people over anyway, and I’m not a particularly relaxed cook. I somehow found the idea of serving a selection of hors d’oeuvres with drinks easier, even though I prepared a wide assortment of little dishes, which took some time to pull together. 

Recently, we invited a couple of friends over for cocktails and nibbles. Since I’m a planner, I soon sat down to mull over what I would prepare. I’m fond of a recipe for baked Greek-style spinach, feta and dill squares. They’re always popular. 

I also considered constructing little cups of baked wontons, which could be stuffed with myriad fillings and served either hot or cold. To make the cups, fresh, lightly oiled wonton wrappers are fitted into mini-muffin tins and baked until golden. While in the oven, they form-fit in the tins and remain in that shape indefinitely. They can be made in advance and kept in an airtight container.

In the past, I have filled the cups with a ribbon of smoked salmon topped with a dab of cream cheese and garnished with a bit of snipped chives or dill. I’ve made tiny meatballs and plopped them into the cup, topped with a bit of marinara sauce and a touch of finely grated cheese. The list is endless. 

Other options for the evening in question included a recipe for small baked Pakistani fritters made with ground chicken thighs and aromatic spices, which I serve with a cooling Greek yogurt and tzatziki, a grated cucumber sauce. Another favorite is mashed potato puffs made using leftover mashed potatoes mixed with cheese, tiny bits of bacon or Italian pancetta, plus herbs. These, too, are baked in little muffin tins and are popular with our guests. 

When the date rolled around and our guests were due to arrive that evening, we were in the middle of a horrendous heat wave (as was a good deal of the country), and the thermometer in our house had hit 84 degrees by mid-morning. We had turned on ceiling fans in the kitchen and living room and had placed floor fans in two places. But it seemed that the hot air was just blowing throughout the house. 

When I arose that morning and came downstairs, my sister Janet was waiting for me in the kitchen. “You can’t cook anything, Juju,” she said emphatically. I just stared at her. Her comment (or was it a command?) didn’t register right away. “I mean it,” she added. “Turning on the oven will only heat the house further.”

“Well, you’d better drive me into Monticello, then,” I replied. We showered quickly and went directly to ShopRite. I walked the aisles looking for a variety of items that I could serve at room temperature or chilled. It was an interesting challenge.

I bought Sabra brand classic hummus (which I later garnished with toasted, crushed cumin seeds); a jar of pickled herring in wine sauce; a package of smoked salmon; vegetables for crudité; mixed nuts; assorted olives; and a package of Boursin cheese. Boursin with garlic and fine herbs has been around since 1963. It is a soft, creamy, spreadable French cheese. New flavors have been introduced on the market, such as shallot and chive, caramelized onion, cracked black pepper, and basil and chive, to name a few. I bought the basil and chive with the idea that I would transform it into a dip. 

The day before, Janet and I had eaten the wings and dark meat from a rotisserie chicken because it had, again, been too hot to cook. I chopped the breast meat into small cubes and added mayo, curry powder, ground ginger, salt, pepper and a touch of honey mustard, and had myself a quick curried chicken salad. Just before our guests arrived, I mounded it on crisp crackers, added a few chopped peanuts for texture, and garnished the tops with finely chopped cilantro. 

I had a few minutes left, so I cut a pumpernickel bagel into small rounds and topped each with a tiny schmear of cream cheese, a piece of salmon, and some snipped dill from the garden. 

It was still quite hot, hovering around the high 70s when our friends arrived for margaritas and the nibbles I’d prepared, but it was ever so slightly cooler out on our front porch than in the sweltering house. So we sat outside talking and watching the many birds alighting on Janet’s feeders. In a way, I was proud of myself. Ordinarily, I would’ve stubbornly turned on the stove or oven to produce what I thought were more impressive hors d’oeuvres, but the spread looked great and it really was perfect for serving in the heat of the night.