Not very appetizing

Heavy hors d'oeuvres has officially been added to the short list of things I hate, joining Jay Leno, chunky peanut butter, neckbeard and any "Saturday Night Live" skit with Jimmy Fallon. (Except "Cowbell," of course. Everyone was laughing during that one.)

I came to this realization a few weeks ago after attending a pre-graduation reception on the campus of The George Washington University. (Motto: We Cannot Tell A Lie - Tuition Is Pretty Expensive.)

Before I continue, let me state unequivocally that I had a lovely time, the people I met were friendly and the rooftop view of The Mall made a great background for photos that could easily achieve Facebook profile picture-status. That said, I had two main problems with this shindig.

First, the dress code was "business professional." Not be confused with "business casual," of course, or "casual professional" or "Kris Kross," which is when you wear a smoking jacket backward. Even now, I still have no idea what that means. Note to Event Planners: Just tell me on the invitation if I need to wear a coat and tie. I'll take it from there.

The bigger issue, though, was the reception featured heavy hors d'oeuvres, the cocktail hour's annoying cousin.

I like a good cocktail hour. It's a chance to ease your way into a party, scope out the lay of the land, drink and mingle. The night is still full of possibilities, so everyone is in a good mood, and getting another drink is a great excuse to leave a boring conversation. Plus, if you're lucky, there will be pigs in a blanket and/or egg rolls. People would never eat regular-sized hot dogs and egg rolls together, but make them miniature and watch the plates fill up.

Heavy hors d'oeuvres, on the other hand, is French for "you're not getting dinner." That means more focus on eating and less on schmoozing. The actual food also seems bigger, like appetizers on steroids. The food needs a plate that becomes difficult to use once you put even one item on it because there is most likely a drink in your other hand. If you're without a drink, you still have to fully commit to your plate because whatever is on there probably requires a fork or your fingers to consume. Much of the freedom and enjoyment of the cocktail partygoer is thanks to the toothpick.

Put this all together, and there I was at GW, furiously wiping my hand on a napkin to get off the grease from my 18th piece of coconut-breaded chicken to shake hands with the guy I just met while also keeping an eye on the beer I momentarily placed next to the vegetable platter. That it was my 18th piece is a bit of exaggeration, but not by much; heavy hors d'ouevres typically lack the variety of the cocktail hour, forcing you to stick with what's working. If you disguised any type of competitive eating contest as heavy hors d'ouevres, everyone could find their inner-Kobayashi.

I was the bad kind of full by the time we left, the kind where you still feel hungry but the thought of actually eating something else makes you feel a bit queasy. But seeing the graduate-to-be beaming at the start of her big weekend was better medicine than Pepto-Bismol, and, besides, the drinks were free.

Also, I was properly dressed in my coat and tie.