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Jami Mathewson knocks on my front door wearing a polka-dot pajama set and inflated-looking "Family Guy" slippers with a sack of Granny Smith apples and a prepared pie crust in hand. "My mom would be done by now," says the 20-year-old University of Georgia student as she peels the apples for her family's famous apple pie that features a sugar-cinnamon crumb topping instead of a doughy lid.

Meanwhile, Adam Kosarick, another UGA undergraduate, meticulously chops green and red bell peppers and onions for his favorite chicken pasta with homemade alfredo sauce. Moments earlier he had stapled together a few sheets of printer paper in the shape of a chef's hat, declaring himself "Master Chef Adam," and had arranged his ingredients in still-life fashion for a pre-cooking photo.

(ENLARGE)

Kali Justus.

THE STUDENTS AND THEIR RECIPES Brittney Inman • Santa Fe Chili Kali Justus • Stuffed Pork Tenderloin • Kali's sister Destiny's Italian Tomato Cheesy Bread Rachel Jacques • Risotto with Garlic Shrimp and Sauteed Spinach Karlee Baumann • Indoor Barbecue Taylor Dahl • Corn Dip • Broccoli Casserole • Chocolate Poundcake In a hurry to cook? Read the short version of this feature on Evening Edge.

Everyone is huddled in the small kitchen of my off-campus apartment, preparing for my first dinner party ... er ... our pajama party potluck. Thank goodness I've enlisted help because, left to my own devices, I'd have spent weeks just planning the menu and making sure all the dishes complemented each other, let alone slaving away over a hot stove for an entire evening.

Besides, something is bound to go wrong no matter how hard you try, and going it alone can lead to a potentially embarrassing situation, not to mention plenty of unnecessary pressure. Determined to avoid that nightmare, I've asked each person or couple to bring a dish of his or her choice to this college kid-style affair (no cloth napkins, place cards or fine china required). Letting my perfectionism (read: egotism) ruin an otherwise rockin' gathering and leaving my friends and family feeling micro-managed is not an option if I want to make a good impression. To really let go of my control-freak ways, I've got to put on my PJs with the rest of them and relax.

To encourage a little teamwork, I've welcomed everyone to come early so we can prepare our dishes together. But I've cheated. By the time Jami and Adam are getting started in the kitchen, I've already finished my cranberry and brie-stuffed pork tenderloin. If nothing else, my dish must be "perfect." But after pounding the pork tenderloin to half-inch thickness with a household hammer, Googling whether I need to cut the chalky white casing off the brie and rolling up the meat and filling, my work is done here.

I'm expecting the rest of my guests to arrive in about 30 minutes. My sister Destiny is helping Jami peel apples for the pie, which seems to be taking forever, even with both of them on the job. Destiny is nowhere near started on her Italian tomato cheesy bread. This is not "Iron Chef," but I feel like we are battling the clock at this point. I can't resist. Control-freak mode sets in and I'm rushing around checking in with everyone, hoping it will all be done at the same time.

Then I realize how ridiculous I'm being. Everyone is having a good time, and there hasn't been a dull moment yet. This time schedule thing is all in my head, and I can't interfere with the process. That's part of the fun, after all. I pour myself a glass of wine. We'll eat when everything is ready. No big deal. Then, there's a knock on the door.

Jami's boyfriend, Stewart Barnes, is here and is soon followed by my roommate from last year, Erika Tootle, and her boyfriend, Jason Evans, bearing a fruit salad of oranges, green grapes, apples and strawberries with fresh mint in a yogurt sauce. I get caught up in conversation, and now I'm starting to forget about the pork tenderloin in the oven.

"I think it's burning," Adam says as wisps of smoke curl to the ceiling. "Get it out! Get it out!" I command, briefly losing my cool. The pork tenderloin is unscathed, even though the marinade at the bottom of the casserole dish is a charred, hardened mass that will take me a half-hour to scrub clean the next day.

Nonetheless, everything is finally ready. Jami, Erika and I are seated Indian-style around the coffee table in the living room and I've started on a Blue Moon. Now that the food is safely on the plates of my guests, I can really kick back.