Undomesticated Goddess

"It'll just be a couple of people from the office, don't worry about it." said Ross. "I'll do a barbecue. It'll be fine."
I was fine until "a couple" turned out to be 12.
You may recall we have barely tidied up from the previous party when "a few" turned out to be 60. That was alright, because I had my family (caterers) and my gbf (former pastry chef) to call on. To be honest the only role I played in the whole thing was to run around before hand telling everyone they were doing everything wrong. Mind you, I did buy the anchovies for the caesar salad. They're still in the cupboard.
This time I would be on my own!
One of the problems with the whole entertaining thing in the U.S. is that everyone is so darned good at it.
"Dessert? Try one of these six. Meat? Would you like beef, lamb or chicken?
The other is that they already know how to use their appliances. I couldn't even get the dvd that explains how to use my oven to work.
Today I decided to conquer my fears. After a fortnight's practise I can use the microwave to reheat and use one programme on the dishwasher. I can also use the cooktop, but there is only so much spaghetti bologonese you can eat, especially at a barbecue.
So I decided to bake my first cake in the new country, no doubt like millions of immigrants before me.
I hadn't brought any recipes from the old country with me, so decided to check out the internet.
"You will need" - so far so good. "One cup of sugar, a stick of butter and all purpose flour."
Oh oh.
What did that mean? In the UK these days we measure in grams, or the older folk use ounces, but a cup? Did that mean a tea cup? No, they don't drink tea here. A coffee mug perhaps? And what on earth is a stick of butter?
In the end I called the gbf who was able to translate for me.
It took me an entire day to make two rather flat sponge cakes which I put together with a cream cheese frosting before sprinkling chopped pecans around the edge. It looked like a home economics project.
Amazingly my state of the art oven was only able to help with the baking part. I had to do the rest myself! You would think it would at least produce frosting at the press of a button, or would that be the refridgerator?
Exhausted with the effort, I sat down to check my emails to discover one from the wife of one of Sunday's guests.
"Ross says you don't want any help, but are you sure you don't want me to bring anything?" she asked.
He must have been snitching on me again. Now I have to make at least six more desserts before even starting on the salads.
"Oh no," I replied graciously. "Well, maybe the Peptobismal..."