Jun 13 2007
An Invitation To Dinner
I’ve been sharing many home-cooked meals recently.
I’ve been cooked for. I’ve done the cooking. I’ve shared in the cooking.
This isn’t usually the case.
Usually I’m on the road and eating at a restaurant alone or maybe with coworkers.
It may sound lonely but I’m okay with my own company and a book.
When I got together with friends at home, we’d go out to eat.
However, on my recent trips overseas, I stayed with friends. At first I’d be sipping wine while my friends cooked. Then I began helping with the preparations, and finally I actually helped to cook the meals. It’s been a long time since I’ve really cooked a meal for anyone but myself.
Cutting vegetables, opening cupboards and drawers, pulling out pans, asking where’s the olive oil?
I was home.
I came back with a longing for home-cooked meals as well as the realization that the meal didn’t have to be perfect. I hadn’t invited people over because I wasn’t confident in my cooking, at least not for others. When I was with my friends, we just made it up as we went along and guess what?
It was all good.
It’s funny how we can feel so self-conscious about our cooking, how we have to give excuses that it’s “nothing fancy” or “it’s really simple…”
When a friend invited me over for what he called a “simple” home-cooked meal of brown rice, grilled chicken and butternut squash soup (made from scratch!) I was very impressed.
He had set the table and it was very homey. The meal was wonderful. Even more wonderful was the feeling of being cared for.
He took the time. For me.
I wanted to do the same and since then, I’ve begun inviting my family and friends for dinner. I used to stress over the cooking, looking up recipes, trying to cook more complicated or “fancy” meals.
Instead I cook simple meals and I cook them with joy. My friend will lean over the counter, or against it, talking with me while I cook.
I have these thick white plates, hand-me-downs. They look like something you’d see at a fair – the kind you’d try to break by throwing a softball. I’ll place scoops of rice, some chicken and some vegetable around the plate and hand it to them. We’ll sit at my five-foot long folding table.
Nothing special. No placemats – just paper napkins, glasses, knife and forks.
Sometimes we’ll get a second helping. Sometimes I’ll get it for them. Sometimes they’ll get up and help themselves.
I liked it when my friends feel comfortable enough to carry their plate to the stove and help themselves.
Maybe the rice is a little dry. Or I didn’t use enough salt. Perhaps the vegetables were roasted too long.
None of that matters.
We’re together.
It’s all good.
In fact, it’s the best.
Why don’t you invite someone over for dinner?
It’s not about the food. It’s about the company.
You always bring it home with your posts.
Last night I went to see my mother. I never want her working hard for me. But that is hard for a mother to do.
She asked me if I was hungry, I told her no. But she said, “I know you’re hungry. You’re always hungry.” She was right. She told me it would only take ten minutes to make something. I told her to go for it.
You know how warm my heart felt after that? And to see the joy in her face for what was a simple meal of rice and salmon. It was made with love though. And the conversation, although limited (remember I’m eating), it was much needed.
Oh, I miss those times. I don’t cook much but when I do I will tell you that I do the damn thing.
As you say, “ITS ALL GOOD.”
Thx Ms. Q
Urban Thought: Yes, it feels good to cook for someone. I had forgotten that. It’s nice that you allowed your mother to cook for you; sometimes we don’t want people to bother or are unwilling to receive love/hug/food/help. Being able to receive is very loving, too.
Thank you for sharing your time with your mom last night, it warmed my heart, too! Seems like you were saying a lot without having much of a conversation.
Years ago when I was a young man living at home, my grandmother was visiting. I happened to be up in my room. She and I were the only people in the house for the afternoon.
She came up to my room and asked if I wanted a cup of tea. I declined because I wanted to be polite and also to not make her do any work on my behalf. Also, young boys don’t really drink tea. After I spoke, it immediately occurred to me that she wanted to do something for me. So I told her I’d love a cup of tea.
She brought up to my room a cup of tea, on a saucer, along with three cookies.
I will never forget that moment.
I miss her to the point of hurting.
Jake: What a sweet memory and how sweet a boy you must have been to think of your grandmother’s feelings!
I can see everything: the tea, the saucer, the 3 cookies.
How great to have had a grandmother like her.
Being a poor student, I cook to nurture my friends… It’s the best I can do for them, when I can’t afford meals out, or going to movies or buying them gifts. It’s how I show people I love them.
I cook like my mother taught me to, and apparently this wows everybody (I was not aware my mom was such a culinary artist… we just throw things into pots and hope it comes out tasting good). It makes me feel good when a friend fills up on my food and wants seconds
My apartment really feels like home when there are people I love in it, eating the food I’ve prepared for them..
Hmmm, warm fuzzies
I can relate..
Irisi: Yes, it does feel great when friends want seconds. You may be a poor student but you sound rich in so many ways and you also sound like a great friend.
[...] Q presents An Invitation To Dinner posted at Ms. Q, saying, “I learned that preparing a meal for someone and sharing that meal [...]