When I have company, I always cook enough for the Hatfields and the McCoys. Usually, a small family of four is joining us. I'm not sure if it has to do with my own fear of missing a meal, or if it's some innate need to please. I cook way too much (Is 3 chicken breasts per person enough?) If it's pasta, it's accompanied with a salad. And an appetizer. Add in a heavy dessert, and I push everyone over the edge into sickness. If we grill, it's fancy steak, or pork tenderloin. The whole dinner ends up being an event, and the food is delicious. But it's overkill. To cook a nice meal is a lot of work, and dear hubbie (who wanted to order pizza) is forced to help me through the whole event. The kitchen is trashed and I'm cranky if there are leftovers. Nothing bothers me more than people who eat like sparrows.
Recently, I went to two different friends houses for dinner. Both friends are from similar social and economic status. Our first dinner date was an ultra-casual get-together. So casual, I felt like family, but the sort of family where cousins spawn. We had burgers on the grill with Kraft slices, chips out of the bag, and warm beer. One warm beer. After the first beer, I was offered a soda. In retrospect, I wonder if I had let the F-bomb fly somewhere along the line. For dessert, we were served brownies out of the plastic tin they came in. The dinner menu was enough to make me think I fell into a coma, entered a transport shuttle and was dumped into rural Alabama. The thing is, the hosts are truly wonderful people. Thoughtful and kind. They would do anything for my family. Many gifts have been bestowed upon me from these folks for no reason other than they like me! They are merely busy people who are more consumed with engaging their guests in lively conversation than with heating up the kitchen.
This past weekend we went over to see some other friends' new pool. It was a spur-of-the-moment affair, and I offered to bring beer and an appetizer. I haphazardly threw together some Velveeta and salsa glop. Oops. Didn't I look like the big schmuck when my hostess presented me with a mint mojito. In between holding her one-year-old and wrangling the 3 year old, she managed to whip together homemade coleslaw and spice-rubbed ribs. All of this was accompanied by platters of garlic bread, brownies, and sliced watermelon. It was decadent. And so unexpected. Here is a woman in graduate school with two small children, and yet it all looked so effortless. The night was perfect, and I felt honored to share in such a tasty meal. And the thing is, the hostess did not appear frazzled in the least.
What these two very different dinners showed me is that a friend is a friend. I appreciate my friends for different reasons, not whether or not they can throw together a five course meal in a jiffy. That doesn't mean I wouldn't rather eat at one person's house or the other. Give me the ribs and the mojitos! Perhaps I'll just loosen my standards for what I deem acceptable entertaining at my house. If they are my friends, they'll be there for me. Friends don't let friends burn themselves cooking their dinner. But I will make sure there is beer- and that it is cold.
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