You're having people over to watch Hollywood's Biggest Night. You've printed out the Oscar ballots, you've gutted your way through all five disturbing documentaries, you've nailed the pronunciation of live action short film nominee Neboj拧a Slijep膷evi膰. You're ready. Almost.
Those folks coming over are gonna need food and lots of it. Sure, you could toss out some bean dip and a cheese log and let 'em fend for themselves like feral beasts, albeit feral beasts who harbor strong opinions about Fernanda Torres' chances. But I know you, cookie. You're a better host than that. You want to give your guests a bill of fare that engages with each of the best picture nominees on both a gustatory and conceptual level. Here's some suggestions.
Serve a bare Nathan's Coney Island hot dog. Dip it in expensive vodka, but only briefly, then take the vodka away and leave the hot dog all alone because the world is cold and cruel and it never could have worked out between those two crazy kids.
Prepare a lovely chicken paprikash (representing the Hungarian immigrant experience). Smother with ranch dressing (representing American capitalism). Get a Statue of Liberty cake topper and shove it into the dish upside down. Serve.
Optional, for true cineastes: When your guests are half-finished, make them go outside for 15 minutes, then invite them back in to polish it off.
Take a cinnamon bun. Take a scone. Smush 'em together, and offer your guests 'A Complete Bun/Scone.' Hey look it may not be your thing, but your dad and his friends never shut up about it.
Optional, for music lovers: Make it "go electric" (read: place on griddle, plug griddle in). Be warned: whether or not you do this is evidently a big deal. It takes up the whole third act of the movie, for some reason!
Lay out five dishes: Burgers, jollof rice, poutine, cacio y pepe, and bangers and mash. Force your guests to vote for which one you will serve them. Pair winning dish with white smoke and a crisis of faith.
Optional, for the truly devoted: Hire someone to dress up as Isabella Rossellini in a habit. Have them enter, glare at everyone for five minutes, and leave.
This one's simple: Just a tray of tequila shots, with agave worms at the bottom of each shot glass. Serve until guests start walking without rhythm.
Look, don't overthink it, 'cause God knows the filmmakers didn't. Set out a bowl of vichyssoise, but label it "AUTHENTIC MEXICAN POZOLE." Serve with a baguette (labelled "AUTHENTIC MEXICAN CONCHA").
Place an empty serving platter on the table. Wait beside it all night, looking concerned but indomitable, tough but vulnerable, while radiating a grim, quiet strength.
Allow your guests to relive the film's dazzling first-person POV perspective by having them make and bring their own damn food.
Assemble slimy foods: Okra. Spinach. Oysters. Snails. Seaweed. Toss into a blender and liquefy. Load into a turkey baster and squirt your guests at random intervals while shouting "FEMINISM! PATRIARCHY! AGEISM! UNREALISTIC BEAUTY STANDARDS!" at the very top of your fool lungs. It's subtle, but they'll get it.
Make a great big bowl of mashed potatoes with lots and lots of butter and milk. More than you think necessary. The idea is to make them so rich and creamy and moist that no one will even think of adding any kind of sauce or dressing. You're aiming to have your guests compliment your mashed potatoes for 鈥�
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