Halloween Food: A Feast for the Eyes

If you were to ask me what sort of food is served at , based on what I personally consume during the course of the evening my answer would be “Fog,” or maybe “Gum.”

As my interests lie elsewhere, namely decorating, selecting music, and making goodies for the trick-or-treaters, food and drink run the risk of receiving short shrift. I make every effort to not let that happen though, because if our offerings consisted of nothing more than an uninspired bowl of potato chips and some bottom-shelf beer, our party would have gone belly-up years ago.

As the years go by, I’ve made every attempt to not be “a dullard in the kitchen.” I have Martha Stewart to thank for that.

Writing up a menu of sorts will help you plan what you’ll feed your guests well before they start showing up. Trust me, you don’t want to be fumbling around making deviled egg eyeballs while the trick-or-treaters are ringing your doorbell. Plan ahead, and consider serving a variety of things that can be prepared (or bought on platters) a day or more in advance.

Try to offer up lots of protein (sushi, meatballs, Lit’l Smokies) to counterbalance the pounds of sugar that are as inextricably linked to Halloween as sprained ankles and claims of the flu the morning after.

I like loading up the buffet table with things that aren't food, like plastic eyeball rings and glowsticks (it truly is “A feast for the eyes”). Move the inedible items elsewhere as guests bearing food arrive, and your table will appear full from the get-go.

Bill your gig as a “buffet” and people will be more likely to not come empty-handed. Another term I like a lot is “heavy hors d'oeuvres;” it doesn’t take much imagination to guess that it’s not referring to cheese and crackers.

Whatever your theme, encourage your guests to “play along”; it’ll give them some direction in what to bring, and they might really try to out-do each other. Announcing particularly festive dishes and handing out rewards of some sort is optional, but adds to the craziness.

Bellow something like “Mozzarella sticks that look like severed fingers — Mrs. Smith, you’ve won a brand new paring knife!” and just watch the tide move in on the buffet.

There’s one recipe that I never get around to making, but this year I’m determined. Some of the prep can be done in advance, but the last two steps need to wait until the last minute. Recruit a friend to help out, if need be.

I first had this appetizer at The Black and White Ball in San Francisco (appropriately, because one of the ingredients is one of the few truly black foods: caviar).

Start boiling a pot of water; throw in a dash or two of salt. While you’re waiting for the water to boil (don’t watch it!), get to work scrubbing and peeling several new potatoes. Slice them into quarter-inch thick cross sections.

Slip them into the boiling water for no more than a few minutes, just long enough to boil off some of the starch, but not long enough for them to become mushy.

Periodically skim one out and bite into it. If it’s still got some crunch but it no longer has that mealy quality, strain them all out and blot them dry on paper towels.

When they’re cool, arrange them on plates and cover them tightly with plastic wrap. Store them in your fridge.

Right before your guests start to arrive, place a small dollop of crème fraiche on each potato cross-section, and in the center of that dollop put a tiny cluster of black caviar.

Not only are they dramatically black and white, but they actually sort of look like eyeballs.

Serve these up along with one of my favorite conversation starters: “Hey, are there any vegetarians in the house? You’re in luck! These appetizers are nothing more than potatoes, crème fraiche, and caviar! No, caviar isn’t fish, it’s eggs — discuss!”

Duck out before the conversation gets really heated, and work on something else, preferably in another area of the house. Go refill toilet paper or something.

On the subject of alcoholic drinks, I’m pretty clueless. As a teetotaler, I have to rely on those imbibing around me to tell me what’s what. According to my husband, beer that has the word “pumpkin” in the description is to be avoided.

For a few years now, we’ve stockpiled a spring ale called The Hairy Eyeball, by the Lagunitas Brewing Company out of Petaluma.

This is the first year we actually scored on a case of the stuff. Storing it since Valentine’s Day has been a challenge, because I have to keep reminding myself which closet it’s stashed in. Reports on its taste are favorable, and its label is a work of art.

When it comes to soft drinks, however, I know the score. Few things make me grit my teeth more than tossing away open soda cans at the end of the night that have maybe had one sip taken out of them.

Thankfully, some genius in the beverage industry came up with the half can. It’s usually pretty easy to find them with adorable labels. Jones Soda Co. even used to come up with Halloween-inspired flavors like Candy Corn (I’ve never brought myself to try them — instead I let the empty cans piled up on the counter at the end of the night tell the story).

Other good soft drink offerings include bottled Starbucks Frappuccinos, sparkling water, cider, and tea, both hot and iced. A pot of coffee on standby is always a good idea.

I have two large metal tubs (green with white handles) that I serve drinks out of. One holds beer, and the other is reserved for soda and water.

I bought them several summers back, when I was gathering the goods for the “tequila brunch” we threw to celebrate Victoria’s first birthday (a whole other article in itself, as you can imagine).

During the party they sit on the counter at eye level, with hand-towels looped through the handles for drying off bottles, cans, and hands. A couple of magnetic bottle openers cling to the sides of the tubs (invariably, at least one wanders off; it happens).

At all costs, I try to avoid sending guests on ice runs. Keeping enough ice in the house is like dancing a dangerous tango involving cars, trick-or-treaters, cops, maps, parking, and the threat of room-temperature drinks.

Well in advance, I look upon Halloween as a great excuse to clean out the freezer, just so I’ll have plenty of room to store several dozen pounds of ice. One of these years I’ll probably find something that used to be food buried in the back of the refrigerator that might make an especially disturbing Halloween decoration. Stranger things have happened.

Help save me from myself in the kitchen. I want to hear (and steal) your ideas for Halloween food and drinks in the comments. See you here next week for some last-minute party concepts!

Read Denise's previous articles in her "Eye Ball" Halloween series here:

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