This is a case for NOT being “the hostess with the mostest.” This philosophy of hosting would not have your friends’ enjoying their favorite drinks on tap or tickled by your beautiful displays of cheeses from the greatest dairy farms of the midwest. No, this is a case for homegrown hosting—whatever that might look like in your family—no frills added.
Let me take you back to how I learned to make a home… or rather where. My husband and I moved overseas as newlyweds. I learned to cook, clean, and stock the fridge in China. If there’s one thing Asia is known for here in the West it is this: its differentness. And so this new wife… and then new mom, had to navigate many new (and BIG) things working from a mixture of her my roots and what she saw around her.
We had quite the eclectic spin on things, I imagine. But it looked quite normal to us. We bought fresh vegetables and fruit daily, only to store them in a refrigerator. I made our son’s baby food, but my selections were not the popular egg and rice porridge diet. Rice was made daily in our home, but it was flavored and tainted bright orange with saffron.
Actually, that Puerto Rican rice is quite telling… it wouldn’t impress any Latinos I know, as I had to substitute several spices, but anyone else eating it would assume it to be Hispanic. And that was my style of homemaking: neither here, nor there, nor anywhere but all my own. Our American friends were impressed that I learned to cook “Chinese style,” and our Chinese friends would pretend to like our “American food.” They were all eating the same thing.
It really got to me though. I was trying really hard to do well. I’d make a variety of dishes, trying to offer something that would impress! I wanted my guests to feel honored by my best cooking efforts. I brought out my best chocolates and offered whatever drink seemed fancy at the store. And yet it felt like my stir fries left my local friends feeling as if something was lacking, and my expatriate friends were just wishing for some expensive cheese to dress up some rare macaroni. I felt that I couldn’t please anyone.
Dinners got more expensive and tedious. Needless to say, my receptiveness to my husband’s hosting wishes narrowed. Greatly. The people I’d strive to please most seemed the least phased. I’d shut the door to return to the kitchen to clean up, ruminating in bitterness. Who wants to sign up for more evenings of that?!
Invitations to the Henderson home came to a halt. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. I didn’t feel any closer to anyone because of them, and the stress was not missed, thank you. But the desire to have people over didn’t cease for good. Upon one of hubby’s requests to have someone over, I told him, “I’m not making anything special. I’m not going to clean up or make dessert or alter our baby’s schedule!” He agreed.
It was a lovely evening with someone I barely knew.
He acted like he loved the meal (I doubt he did), but what I could see was this: he left satisfied. He thanked us when leaving our door; he got what he came for. What he came to our house for was not for an exquisite treat. What he came for was to see how we lived. He was curious… not just about how the other half lived, but about how we did life, and thereby grow closer in our friendship. And that’s exactly what we all got that night.
I adopted this mode of hosting: come as you are, and we won’t change much of our normal for you either! Or… “want to come over for a Henderson dinner? Great! Because a Henderson dinner is exactly what you’re going to get!” I’ll have to work on the tagline. But you get the picture.
You’ll grab your own silverware from the tray on the dinner table. Salt is there, too, in case you hate the food. Our littlest (who’s not so little) will make a complete disaster on his tray (hence the highchair he can barely fit into anymore). What’s for dinner is what’s for dinner. Drink offerings include milk or water (because the kids don’t need sugary juices, and neither do we). And if you’re lucky enough to get offered wine, it’s likely from an opened jumbo bottle from Costco.
Please don’t misunderstand our mediocre meal as a lack of honor and joy for having you. It’s more like we want to have you over so badly that we’re not going to let silly things like having the right food or the spotlessness of our toilet get in the way. We want you to experience us—our way of life, our family, our home—without the anxiety of or misleading airs of perfection. After all, if we waited for perfection, you would never graze our doorstep. And if you happen to slit your feet on a Lego or skate across the floor on a matchbox car, we’ll be happy to help offset your emergency room bill.
Oh, and it will be loud.
