Styles: Protocol of Potluck

Express contributor Michele Kayal tells of how a dish is your command at parties where everyone helps.

JACKIE KENNEDY NEVER attended — let alone hosted — a potluck.

"I can't even put words in her mouth on that," sniffs Leticia Baldridge, the famed first lady's former chief of staff and protocol adviser. "That wasn't her thing."

But modern, urban professionals — i.e. the non-Camelot set — hail potlucks as a casual, cost-effective and time-saving way to entertain.

The term "potluck" means what it suggests, that the meal offered will be whatever serendipitously finds its way to the table. Thanksgiving may have been the very first BYO dish fest. The custom became popular when the Great Depression forced neighbors and friends to share food and resources. Since then, potlucks have evolved into a way to keep the party rolling without burdening one person. And the etiquette pitfalls — like telling friends, "Come for dinner, and, by the way, bring food" — vanish faster than a Pyrex of tuna noodle casserole with the right attitude and planning.

"Just be up-front about it," says 24-year-old Kaitlin Dunne, a second-year law student at George Washington University who throws a potluck every few weeks. "People are usually really willing to bring something or help out. They get into it; they think it's nice."

Etiquette experts say Dunne has the right idea. And once the invitation hurdle's been crossed, don't skimp on specifics. "Be clear on what you want them to bring," says Pamela Eyring, director of the Protocol School of Washington. "That way, you have well-rounded courses, so it's not all meat or dessert."

Recalling a free-for-all potluck that ended in pizza delivery after little but cookies and veggie dip showed up, potluck veteran Katie Sweeney says she makes sure the food is plentiful — and coordinated — by holding themed dinners at her Ballston apartment.

Fondue parties are a favorite for Sweeney's crowd, and she's hoping to have an "Iron Chef" potluck, to which everyone brings a dish featuring the theme ingredient. For her "Chili and Chick Flicks" bash several months ago, Sweeney supplied the chili and let friends bring the sides: rice, cheese, onions, Fritos. "Living in the city, it's hard to get people to bring hot casseroles and things," says the 24-year-old health promotion coordinator for SRA International. "I supply the base and then people bring things that are easily transported."

When the guest list is large, Sweeney suggests assigning dishes according to last name, for example, asking A through D to bring appetizers, E through H to bring salads and so on.

Providing a main dish as Sweeney does is only one responsibility of the potluck host, etiquette mavens say. Others include setting the tone for the gathering with music, flowers and tablecloths, and managing its logistics: serving dishes and utensils, plates, silverware and napkins. And plastic and paper just won't do.

"Cloth napkins and not paper napkins," says Baldridge. "Paper napkins just class it down so fast. And paper cups — ugh!! Oh, Lord, no."

But such inflexibilities ignore the realities of city life. At a recent potluck brunch in her Dupont Circle apartment, Dunne not only used paper goods, but she also asked a pal to bring them. "I do that because I don't have a dishwasher," she says.

Ditto on booze. The strictest protocol requires the host to provide cocktails and a full bar set up, says local etiquette coach Carole Margaret Randolph, right down to postprandial coffee. But beer, wine and soft drinks have long been the refuge of non-cooks, people with small kitchens, or invitees simply having a busy week. Having guests pitch in on drinks can also help lower the party's price tag.

Plus, communal meals can be a gift that keeps on giving, says Matt Rizzolo, another second-year law student at George Washington University and veteran of Dunne's potlucks: "The host brings whatever beer or liquor is left over to the next one."

Photo credits: cupcakes by Bill O'Leary/TWP; zeppolle and paprikash by Kathryn Norwood/FTWP; chicken by James A. Parcell/TWP