Wedding bells are ringing...
No, not for ragnvaeig and I, yet. My friends Jill & Eric got married this past weekend in a lovely little inn near Ligonier. It was a lovely little ceremony (and blessedly short, which I always value), and the inn was a lovely location with a very accomodating staff and absolutely to-die-for food (prime rib that melted in your mouth, mmmm). And I got to stand up as Eric's second, be best man, dance with the Bride, and otherwise stretch myself. Fortuitously, J&E know me, and thus didn't really expect much.
It was an excellent weekend. I got to see many folks with whom I don't normally get much chance to hang out (including paperkingdoms, femmetofarad, and many others who either lack LJs or whose usernames I wot not). The lady working the bar the night before and of the wedding didn't recognize what I was talking about when I blubbered about the bride and groom giving my a bottle of 15-year Glenfiddich, and I should have taken that as a sign, but she was v. friendly, and willing to leave the place open with a tab sheet on the table for us, after closing time, on the honor system, so I can think no ill of the woman even if all the taps ran pure foam for two days...
So, interesting events to recount:
The Chocolate Fountain: Jill & Eric actually purchased their own chocolate fountain for the reception. May sound odd, but it was apparently more cost effective, and means that people marrying in the future can now rent it from them instead of paying exhorbitant prices to caterers. Given the frequency with which our friends seem to be marrying (I've the next wedding in July, invitations going out for another as we speak), it was probably a decent investment.
The only drawback was that, since it was not caterer-supplied, we were kinda on our own for setting it up and getting it loaded. And it turned out to be missing a part - the second upturned bowl onto which chocolate was to cascade. We decided, hell, there were marshmallows and fruit and pretzel rods and graham crackers and biscotti, by God the thing would have melted chocolate in it even if we had to remove the fountain part and leave it an overpriced fondue pot. All of this is discovered roughly 4 hours before the ceremony, which itself begins roughly half an hour before the reception.
The loading too would require some thought, as the fountain itself is designed only to keep melted chocolate around 92F, not melt it outright. We have 10 500g bars of fine Belgian chocolate. The bride's father has been so kind as to go secure the vegetable oil the instructions say should be mixed in to keep it flowing, all that will yet be required is to melt said chocolate and pour it into the unit. The aforementioned helpful staff has agreed to let us use the kitchen microwave for the purpose, all we need is a few kind souls to help in the process, all is well.
Except that in the insanity running up to the ceremony, I forget to tap some folks about the process. Thus, once the wedding itself is finished, I plan to go back and set to work. Except, due to Bustle Malfunction, the bride has to step aside, and the receiving line is therefore complicated, and I end up holding a door for a bit to be polite. Fortuitously, my room is closest simultaneously to the ceremony space and the kitchen, so I run there, doff my jacket, and rush to the kitchen to set to.
Needless to say, chunking/shaving chocolate is a more arduous task than I calculated, and for the number of guests we have, the recommended amount is in the neighborhood of nine pounds of the stuff (somewhere between 3.5-4 kilos, unless I'm mistaken?), and the glass melting bowl might hold the smallest serving amount (3lbs chocolate + 1.5 cups oil). So, yeah, complications. Anyway, I set to work until the photos are to be taken, at which point, wash the hands, apologize to the kitchen staff for leaving stuff on the table, and run off to throw on jacket and pose.
As soon as my section of that is complete, having wised up, I go into the reception, already somewhat in progress, and there conscript five good men (two college buddies, two significant others of college friends, and the brother of the bride) to descend upon the kitchen and with flashing knives make short work of the chocolate. I choose men for two reasons: A) chivalry, in that no self-respecting man would let his lady stain her nice dress when he might stain his own suit instead, and B) the women I know would doubtless mock me mercilessly as I foundered and flailed in the kitchen.
At any rate, now having a decent kitchen-raiding party, we make short work of the first 3 lbs of chocolate. One of the guys manages to spot a spare apron lying about, which is graciously given to me, being as I'm the one mixing and melting as chopping progresses. My friend Heather's S.O. Ben, brilliant man that he is, manages to track down the chef and get grudging agreement to use a pot and a burner, figuring that if he can just keep mixing and stirring, the chocolate won't burn - thereby reducing the bottleneck and saving the day. Good man, that. In the midst of this insanity, the photographer gets wind of what we're up to, and comes back to get a shot or two of the Men at Work, which I do hope turns out well.
At any rate, thanks to the hard work of the guys, within a few minutes, we've dumped the first 3lbs of chocolate into the fountain, and shortly thereafter, we've got everything melted and good to go. I make a cursory attempt to clean up the chocolate-covered table on which we are working, and again, the wonderful staff just shoo me out and say they'll take care of it (probably afraid of the damage I'll cause or how in the way I'll be...), leaving me free to run back for the reception. Which I then proceed to do, forgetting, in my haste, to doff the apron and reclaim my jacket. However, the wedding coordinator was between me and the reception, and called my attention to my apparel. Nice as the maroon apron might have looked with my black slacks and purple tie (and most of the gals on staff agreed to the fact), it would have looked odd giving the toast in that getup, so I returned said apron, donned the jacket, and made it back to the party with a few spare minutes to mingle, thank all the guys involved and Ben in particular for the timely aid, and sit down to think about...
The Toast: For you see, I had actually prepared some thoughts for a toast. No big speech per se, but some jotted notes on cards to remind me of points and turns of phrase when the time came. Which notes, naturally, I had left in the wrong jacket in New Jersey. This I discovered about 3-4 hours before the ceremony. And I had put some thought into reconstructing my original ideas... all of which, of course, became moot when I went into frenzied chocolate-melting mode, flew right out of my head.
The bride's father comes over to give me a quick run down on cues, lets me know there's a cordless mic with the band I should pick up, and we can basically get started as soon as the party is seated. So, I get a few minutes to put my thoughts in order while the brother of the bride stands at the bar waiting for a beer, and everyone else kind of schmoozes and waits expectantly.
Fairly certain I won't make a fool of myself, I then turn on the mic to welcome and thank everybody... to the most horrendously sharp feedback loop I've heard in a long while. If nothing else, that at least took some pressure off and broke the ice. It was a small reception, all friends and family, all pretty laid back, so I was able to play off the feedback, keep the mic at a distance, reminisce a bit about the happy couple (here, it helps to be a ham by nature and know the two for nearly a third of your life), and hit the funny notes, the touching notes, the schmalzy notes, raise a glass, and thankfully pass the mic to the father of the bride for grace, flopping back into the chair, off the hook for the rest of the evening.
Apparently, whatever I said, it was well received. The parents of the bride seemed to like it, most of my friends said nice things (though, of course, they had to). femmetofarad's guy showed up late (had another wedding, the same day, to attend), and, apparently, heard about it, and wanted to know what I said. Frankly, so would I. I have some vague conception of what I covered, but, frankly, the phrasing is all gone from my brain. Fortunately, it's on tape, so at some point it will doubtless come back to haunt me.
So, yes, the bride was lovely, the family was fun, seeing friends was a pleasure, I think I earned my title (the father of the bride certainly seemed to think so, repeatedly and aloud as the evening wore on and the drinks flowed), and, for reference, I owe ragnvaeig not less than two slow dances and two up-tempo ones when the next opportunity arises.
It was an excellent weekend. I got to see many folks with whom I don't normally get much chance to hang out (including paperkingdoms, femmetofarad, and many others who either lack LJs or whose usernames I wot not). The lady working the bar the night before and of the wedding didn't recognize what I was talking about when I blubbered about the bride and groom giving my a bottle of 15-year Glenfiddich, and I should have taken that as a sign, but she was v. friendly, and willing to leave the place open with a tab sheet on the table for us, after closing time, on the honor system, so I can think no ill of the woman even if all the taps ran pure foam for two days...
So, interesting events to recount:
The Chocolate Fountain: Jill & Eric actually purchased their own chocolate fountain for the reception. May sound odd, but it was apparently more cost effective, and means that people marrying in the future can now rent it from them instead of paying exhorbitant prices to caterers. Given the frequency with which our friends seem to be marrying (I've the next wedding in July, invitations going out for another as we speak), it was probably a decent investment.
The only drawback was that, since it was not caterer-supplied, we were kinda on our own for setting it up and getting it loaded. And it turned out to be missing a part - the second upturned bowl onto which chocolate was to cascade. We decided, hell, there were marshmallows and fruit and pretzel rods and graham crackers and biscotti, by God the thing would have melted chocolate in it even if we had to remove the fountain part and leave it an overpriced fondue pot. All of this is discovered roughly 4 hours before the ceremony, which itself begins roughly half an hour before the reception.
The loading too would require some thought, as the fountain itself is designed only to keep melted chocolate around 92F, not melt it outright. We have 10 500g bars of fine Belgian chocolate. The bride's father has been so kind as to go secure the vegetable oil the instructions say should be mixed in to keep it flowing, all that will yet be required is to melt said chocolate and pour it into the unit. The aforementioned helpful staff has agreed to let us use the kitchen microwave for the purpose, all we need is a few kind souls to help in the process, all is well.
Except that in the insanity running up to the ceremony, I forget to tap some folks about the process. Thus, once the wedding itself is finished, I plan to go back and set to work. Except, due to Bustle Malfunction, the bride has to step aside, and the receiving line is therefore complicated, and I end up holding a door for a bit to be polite. Fortuitously, my room is closest simultaneously to the ceremony space and the kitchen, so I run there, doff my jacket, and rush to the kitchen to set to.
Needless to say, chunking/shaving chocolate is a more arduous task than I calculated, and for the number of guests we have, the recommended amount is in the neighborhood of nine pounds of the stuff (somewhere between 3.5-4 kilos, unless I'm mistaken?), and the glass melting bowl might hold the smallest serving amount (3lbs chocolate + 1.5 cups oil). So, yeah, complications. Anyway, I set to work until the photos are to be taken, at which point, wash the hands, apologize to the kitchen staff for leaving stuff on the table, and run off to throw on jacket and pose.
As soon as my section of that is complete, having wised up, I go into the reception, already somewhat in progress, and there conscript five good men (two college buddies, two significant others of college friends, and the brother of the bride) to descend upon the kitchen and with flashing knives make short work of the chocolate. I choose men for two reasons: A) chivalry, in that no self-respecting man would let his lady stain her nice dress when he might stain his own suit instead, and B) the women I know would doubtless mock me mercilessly as I foundered and flailed in the kitchen.
At any rate, now having a decent kitchen-raiding party, we make short work of the first 3 lbs of chocolate. One of the guys manages to spot a spare apron lying about, which is graciously given to me, being as I'm the one mixing and melting as chopping progresses. My friend Heather's S.O. Ben, brilliant man that he is, manages to track down the chef and get grudging agreement to use a pot and a burner, figuring that if he can just keep mixing and stirring, the chocolate won't burn - thereby reducing the bottleneck and saving the day. Good man, that. In the midst of this insanity, the photographer gets wind of what we're up to, and comes back to get a shot or two of the Men at Work, which I do hope turns out well.
At any rate, thanks to the hard work of the guys, within a few minutes, we've dumped the first 3lbs of chocolate into the fountain, and shortly thereafter, we've got everything melted and good to go. I make a cursory attempt to clean up the chocolate-covered table on which we are working, and again, the wonderful staff just shoo me out and say they'll take care of it (probably afraid of the damage I'll cause or how in the way I'll be...), leaving me free to run back for the reception. Which I then proceed to do, forgetting, in my haste, to doff the apron and reclaim my jacket. However, the wedding coordinator was between me and the reception, and called my attention to my apparel. Nice as the maroon apron might have looked with my black slacks and purple tie (and most of the gals on staff agreed to the fact), it would have looked odd giving the toast in that getup, so I returned said apron, donned the jacket, and made it back to the party with a few spare minutes to mingle, thank all the guys involved and Ben in particular for the timely aid, and sit down to think about...
The Toast: For you see, I had actually prepared some thoughts for a toast. No big speech per se, but some jotted notes on cards to remind me of points and turns of phrase when the time came. Which notes, naturally, I had left in the wrong jacket in New Jersey. This I discovered about 3-4 hours before the ceremony. And I had put some thought into reconstructing my original ideas... all of which, of course, became moot when I went into frenzied chocolate-melting mode, flew right out of my head.
The bride's father comes over to give me a quick run down on cues, lets me know there's a cordless mic with the band I should pick up, and we can basically get started as soon as the party is seated. So, I get a few minutes to put my thoughts in order while the brother of the bride stands at the bar waiting for a beer, and everyone else kind of schmoozes and waits expectantly.
Fairly certain I won't make a fool of myself, I then turn on the mic to welcome and thank everybody... to the most horrendously sharp feedback loop I've heard in a long while. If nothing else, that at least took some pressure off and broke the ice. It was a small reception, all friends and family, all pretty laid back, so I was able to play off the feedback, keep the mic at a distance, reminisce a bit about the happy couple (here, it helps to be a ham by nature and know the two for nearly a third of your life), and hit the funny notes, the touching notes, the schmalzy notes, raise a glass, and thankfully pass the mic to the father of the bride for grace, flopping back into the chair, off the hook for the rest of the evening.
Apparently, whatever I said, it was well received. The parents of the bride seemed to like it, most of my friends said nice things (though, of course, they had to). femmetofarad's guy showed up late (had another wedding, the same day, to attend), and, apparently, heard about it, and wanted to know what I said. Frankly, so would I. I have some vague conception of what I covered, but, frankly, the phrasing is all gone from my brain. Fortunately, it's on tape, so at some point it will doubtless come back to haunt me.
So, yes, the bride was lovely, the family was fun, seeing friends was a pleasure, I think I earned my title (the father of the bride certainly seemed to think so, repeatedly and aloud as the evening wore on and the drinks flowed), and, for reference, I owe ragnvaeig not less than two slow dances and two up-tempo ones when the next opportunity arises.