I’m all hep on the importance of having a philosophy of ideas surrounding a topic. By “philosophy,” I mean a foundation, a raison d’être. In other words, an answer to the question, “Why bother? Why are these guidelines, or directions, or recipes, important?” I have a philosophy of eating and a philosophy of travel. I outline a philosophy of human emotion in my book, Intentional Happiness: Choosing Your Emotional Life
So—why bother with all the hassle of putting on a dinner party for guests, or a fancy-ish wedding reception, or any other type of gathering? Why do the planning, and the prep, and the cleanup? Why ask people to get off their couches, for heaven’s sake, and trek over to your house, or to the church gymnasium, or to the fellowship hall after a concert? Why, why, why, when we can sit at home and eat takeout while we watch TV? And why, especially, do we need to go to the trouble of, like, making food for these events? All very good questions, ones that should be answered before we tackle such a project, whether in our own homes or not.
Let me start by quoting from Edith Schaeffer, who was the wife of Francis Schaeffer, the Christian writer and apologist (and she ought to have gotten a medal for putting up with him, but that’s another story) and a fascinating writer and speaker in her own right:
“Food cannot take care of spiritual, psychological and emotional problems, but the feeling of being loved and cared for, the actual comfort of the beauty and flavour of food, the increase of blood sugar and physical well-being, help one to go on during the next hours better equipped to meet the problems.” (from The Hidden Art of Homemaking, f
She’s specifically talking about having guests in her home, and she goes into more detail on this subject in her book The Tapestry: The life and times of Francis and Edith Schaeffer
Having this type of mindset will keep you from wandering too far over into the realm of showing off, admittedly sometimes a hard line to draw. Here’s what Cheryl Mendelsohn said in her book Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House
“When I made hand-rolled pasta for a dinner, I learned the hard way that some guests will find this annoying, as they do not feel comfortable eating a meal that they regard as the product of too much trouble.”
Because homemade food is getting rarer and rarer, about as fast as cooking shows get more and more common (you figure that one out), the above attitude is all too common, and it may be necessary sometimes for those of us who like to cook to rein ourselves in a little and perhaps not be as fancy as our inclinations would incline. But I’m going to keep on fighting the battle for homemade food!
I have to tell this story about an experience I had along these lines. I’m a very good breadmaker, and I have a couple of recipes (whole-wheat rolls and breadsticks) that are extremely easy to make for a crowd and also extremely delicious. People act as if I’ve just designed a rocket to the moon: “You made these?” So a number of years ago when our church was going to start a monthly dinner as an outreach ministry I volunteered to supply those items for each meal. I’d make sure that there was a basket of freshly-baked breads on each table, a touch that would add some real hominess to a meal that was being served in the church gym. I presented my idea to the woman in charge, sure that she would welcome my contribution. Instead, her face kind of screwed up, and she said, “I think we need to use the resources we already have.” I was taken aback. What was she talking about? Whatever these “resources” were, she was clearly uninterested in my offer. So I said “okay” and didn’t think too much more about it. Later on, though, I discovered what those “resources” were—the stale leftovers from Panera Bread that the local store donated to our church each weekend. I was kind of miffed. Sure, we want to use food wisely, but the whole purpose of the dinner was to be welcoming and friendly, to show that our church was eager to share in the life of the community. The bread donations would come in regardless of how much we used, and whatever we didn’t take would be passed on. (I feel very strongly that donations of this type should go directly to food banks and other institutions of that kind without a detour to churches made up of middle-class people who don’t need them, but that, as with so many of my ideas, is a subject for another day.) Did we really have to use days-old commercial breads as part of this endeavor? Sheesh.
I realize that everyone is busy. I do. But honestly, folks! How celebratory is it to have Chips Ahoys and Nutter Butters and Doritos as a big part of the eighth-grade end-of-year party? Can’t everyone make at least something? I remember bringing in my homemade item to that particular soirée and being given the old fish eye by the mothers who were setting up the serving table. Ladies and gentlemen, I was appalled. Why even bother stand around eating the same old stuff? I guess that no matter how bad the food is you at least have a venue in which to interact with other people, but it just doesn’t seem to me as if the gathering is going to be very celebratory. Gretchen Rubin quotes a blog comment in her book The Happiness Project (Revised Edition): Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun
I will just insert here, by the way, the fact that I don’t feel compelled to serve food at certain gatherings. Sometimes the serving of food is counterproductive. This is a rather dicey, tricky area of thought, so feel free to disagree with me, but here goes:
For gatherings in our home that have been centered on some type of study and which don’t occur at mealtime, I have always steadfastly refused to serve what I call sn-a-a-a-a-cks. (Say it thorough your nose to rhyme with “qu-a-a-a-a-ck.”) I think in retrospect that I should have made an effort in this regard to serve some kind of drink, a subject I tackle below. We are now in a living situation that limits our ability to host guests, so this issue is dormant for now. I do want to battle the perception that no human activity can take place without food being available, though. In my view, this perception feeds into (pun very much intended) the idea that food is something that should be available at all times, in all places, and just hoovered up mindlessly. I think, for example, of the morning women’s Bible study I attended for several years. It started at 9:30 AM and ended at around 11:30. So it was well after breakfast and well before lunch. We had a lesson notebook that we were using as a basis for discussion plus a set of videos, and we also took time for prayer requests and prayer. There was therefore a very full agenda. It wasn’t a party, or a shower, or a meal. And yet there was this insistent idea that there had to be someone signed up each week to bring food. Why? It made no sense to me. There we’d all be, with our little plates of coffeecake or muffins or (from one very ambitious woman) breakfast burritos, sneaking in bites. It was food for the sake of food and was actually in some ways distracting from our lesson. When I was in charge of the class one year I did m best to discourage this practice without stomping on it too harshly: I said that I would not be in charge of any food (after being asked if we were going to have it) and that it was entirely up to the class to decide if it was needed. It still came in. What can you do? I’ve seen this pattern over and over: a table full of food that’s completely unnecessary considering the time and place of the event. And don’t get me started on the idea that you have to provide candy! Why on earth would the registration table at a retreat need a big bowl of mini candy bars and Hershey’s kisses? Beats me. (I would say that the group I’ve been attending this summer has the logistics ironed out well: We meet at 9:30 for an actual meal, a brunch, provided by the hostess. We spend an hour sitting around a table eating our food and talking. Then at 10:30 the plates are swept up and we start our study. If someone wants coffee or tea during that class it’s available. Because we know that we’re getting an actual meal and not just snacks, we plan accordingly—or at least I do.)
So, to sum up all of the above venting, here’s what you want to aim for whenever you put together an event, whether in your home or someplace else:
Think in terms of what will serve your guests.
That’s it. That’s the whole schemozzle. Every piece of the plan needs to be considered in light of how your guests will react. I usually think in terms of “people”:
People will want a drink when they first come to your home. I haven’t done too well on this one, as mentioned above, but I’m working on it. My efforts to come up with a non-alcoholic, no-sugar, no-artificial sweeteners beverage that everyone will like have not so far been successful. I haven’t worried too much about this when people are coming for dinner and we’re going to be sitting down fairly quickly, but even then it’s a nice gesture. One item that would probably work well is some type of flavored seltzer or club soda–not the artificially-sweetened version but just the plain stuff with a bit of flavor added. Serving it over ice in a nice glass would strike the right note, I think. I’ll have to try it.
People don’t want to be kept standing around while you frantically put something together that matters only to you. Oh the times that a hostess has insisted on serving some kind of fancy punch, but it isn’t quite ready, and we’re all dying of hunger and want to just sit down at the table, but we can’t, because the hostess is determined to serve her punch!
People need to be greeted at the door, if at all possible.
People don’t need or want to know anything about how hard you’ve worked. As above, if at all possible, if it’s your event, put some real thought into how you can plan ahead so that you’re reasonably unflustered and unsweaty by the time your guests arrive. After all, your guests can’t enjoy themselves if they know you’re not doing so. Here’s a great summary of this principle from the great, great cooking blog Smitten Kitchen:
Everything that can be done in advance, should be, and as early as possible. You’re doing it for you. [emphasis mine] When we have a lot of people over, this often leads to me quite over-exhausting myself the night before getting everything prepped that can be, but then I wake up rested and we’re 80% there. It’s not actually a stressful day, which means we’re far more likely to enjoy the party. If I can’t finish prep the night before, I’ll do it in the morning. It’s essential to me that there’s a little window of vegging/non-cooking time between prepping stuff and cooking the stuff that must be done at the last-minute. It’s also a great time to change into something fresh.
People don’t want food pressed upon them. Walk that fine line between generosity and abundance on the one hand and discretion and respect on the other. If people say “No, thank you,” take them at their word.
People don’t need to be impressed with the decorating scheme of your home, the beauty of your table setting, or the complicated nature of the menu. As the reference to the handmade pasta above shows, sometimes people are decidedly unimpressed. Often they can sense that you’re trying to impress them, which is fatal.
And, as the obverse of the above:
People don’t need to hear you apologize about your house or your food. It is what it is. Serve it up with a smile, and if you notice a pile of papers or an errant dirty dish or a crooked picture, do your best to ignore it or fix it with minimal fuss. I say this as someone who has polished the art of self-deprecation to a fine gleam. All it does is make your guests uncomfortable and your own confidence plummet.
As a corollary to the above: Please, please, please don’t compare yourself and your home/hospitality to your guests and their possessions. Expunge forever any phrase that resembles in any way “I know this isn’t what you’re used to” or “I know I’m not as good of a cook as you are” or “My house probably isn’t up to your standards.” What on earth are your poor guests supposed to say? As someone who’s kind of known to be a good cook I’ve faced the deadly cooking comparison made above and usually try to say something along the lines of, “Wow—this looks great” and leave it at that.
The only exception to the above paragraph would be what your reaction should be when something has clearly gone wrong. So I could/should mention briefly over the past half a dozen times I’ve made rice that it wasn’t supposed to be crunchy. But then I needed to drop the subject. (Which I didn’t do.) If something is truly inedible, admit it and do what you can to fix things by substituting something else. (I remember reading a story once about an accomplished hostess who had served a main course of chicken over broccoli, but the broccoli was still frozen. How that could possibly happen, I don’t know—but the point of the story concerns how she handled it. As her puzzled guests tried unsuccessfully to cut through the frozen bottom layer of the dish, she stood up and said, “Okay, everybody. I’ll order takeout.” The guests were so relieved not to have to pretend that everything was okay, and they all had a great time.)
It all boils down to this:
Be a “there you are” person, not “here I am.” That attitude will take you over the finish line.
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