Yesterday, I experienced what I hope history will eventually prove to be the worst nightmare of my hostessing life. On Thanksgiving day 2007, as I served my 17* guests a meticulously planned dinner that I'd lovingly and expertly prepared, I sat down at the head of my table to a special plate of
boiled crow.
My partner and I come from different worlds. I come from people who'd rather carve each other with Sabatier on perfectly laid Limoges than enjoy a peaceful loving holiday gathering. He comes from an affectionate working class family who wouldn't mind sitting on the floor eating off of paper plates just to be together at holiday time. Their way has it's charms, but is completely foreign to my experience; and because our expectations were so different, we had a recipe for a perfect storm.
The bad juju began weeks ago, almost immediately after I said to my partner, "let's have Thanksgiving at our house." After living together for almost a year, we hadn't had his folks over at all and I was beginning to feel the shame of it especially because his family has had us over a dozen times. His mother changed her plans to accept our invitation without hesitation. Great! It was all settled.
Within the week I'd invited another couple and their mother. That same night I was told to my consternation that the initial invitation for 6 local family members would more than double due to visiting children and a brother that planned to fly in with his lady along with her son; in an instant, my guest list went from 11 to 18.
Where was I going to put everyone in our two bedroom apartment?! My partner was equally horrified by my horror. "We'll just ask people to bring stuff," he suggested helpfully. But that's not what I had in mind! I had offered to cook the dinner, not provide a dining hall.
I love to cook Thanksgiving - I love everything about it and have it down to a science. By three days cooking time I mean, I lovingly planned and prepared 6 side dishes, 3 homemade pies (7 all together), and roasted 2 organic, local free range turkeys. I had the menu, shopping lists and schedule done in October. The only thing left to anticipate was the inevitable calorie coma.
Last week we gathered autumnal trimmings from the woods and the day before I spent hours decorating the table with everything I had in my arsenal of entertaining-ware. Despite my panic, I managed to find 18 of everything including cloth napkins and real plates in addition to flat and glasswares - quite a feat for a starving artist who lives in relatively humble circumstances. 
I arranged with the kids downstairs to use their kitchen so I could use two ovens. I struggled to make time to clean up my room (aka the guest room) for out-of-town guests. At this point, I was feeling very resourceful and good about rolling with the punches and had come out on top so far. And although my partner needed a long walk and a Rolaid after the final trip to the grocers, we had even managed to pay for the whole thing despite that neither one of us is currently employed.
After much ado, all was moving along swimmingly until a couple of days before the event when my partner casually mentioned that the house guests "may or may not" be staying with us. It seemed my partner's mom wanted the out-of-town brother to stay with them, and now the visitors were considering "splitting the time" starting with the mother's house.
Of course, this made no sense to my OCD mind. I couldn't fathom why a traveling group would switch houses midway through a weekend visit and openly resented being made to get the room ready on top of everything else, "just in case."
Why didn't I understand that the family just wanted to be together, and that they didn't want anyone to feel left out, and that splitting the time would solve this? I could only despair of the situation that exponentially seceded from my control and so far away from my careful deliberations that I simply couldn't keep up with it.
Naturally, my partner and I fought.
I took the room off of the to-do list (for now), deciding to deal with it if and when it came up . The room wasn't that messy - just a bunch of clean clothes and some stuff that had been stored in there that could be moved to the basement or our room or whatever. It's a shame, I thought, that the cat boxes are kept in there, and I'd planned to remove them for a couple of days to air out..but que sera sera. No big deal, right? These guests are extra-casual..they won't mind a little cat stank considering the circumstances... Phew!...another crisis shot down!
Somehow we made it to Tday without killing each other or calling it off. I slept until 8. The beautiful table was laid the day before with everything but the hors d'oeurves. I was right on schedule and buzzing between kitchens while I prepared apple pies to go in the oven as we dined so they'd be fresh and hot when served.
Guests were told that dinner was at 3pm. I'd hoped this would give everybody a chance to have a nice meal followed by a relaxed gathering while still allowing them get back to the football I knew they cared about but that we couldn't provide without a TV. With dinner at three and 18 expected in a small apartment, one would naturally assume that the guests would plan to arrive 2:30ish...2pm at the earliest, no?
Well imagine my alarm as I heard the rumblings of bodies heading up the stairs at 1:30 pm as I stood in my kitchen, un-showered, wearing flour covered pjs, pushing through the last rush of effort so that when the guests arrived at 2:30 every detail would be arranged and dinner would practically finish itself as I breezed around pouring wine and introducing myself, while seeing that everyone was seated and got what they needed to feel comfortable - well, that was the fantasy plan anyway....
Instead, the dreaded rumbling manifested into 13 people filing into my kitchen, dressed and ready for the holiday armed with coats that needed stowing, extra dishes I had no idea were coming and "what can we do to help?" expressions on their bright faces.
Well, my face had nothing like their delightful holiday eagerness. I must have turned red as a beet, as I glared at the clock in disbelief, I loudly blurted, "You're ALL HERE...one and a half hours early!.." Before I could stop it, out popped, "I'm not going to be able to attend to you for at least another hour, so go find a way to make yourselves comfortable and let us know if you need something."
Imagine an apartment completely filled with three tables and 18 chairs. Imagine 13 people trying to sit anywhere but at that table. Imagine that many of them are teenagers - who were great by the way - someone brought cards and started a lively game of something and the adults watched them play like it was the most interesting thing in the world - which is amazing to me because from the other room I was ready to commit hari kari with the carving knife.
I could no longer get to anything. Everyone wanted to help. Mo more than 3 people can fit in the kitchen comfortably, and suddenly there were 6 people standing in it asking what they could do. "You can all go back out and go for a walk" I suggested to his mother through gritted teeth. I'd forgotten that it was pouring rain and the shops were closed - sadly, this option was not an option, and now I was ruined for suggesting it.
Somehow, I pulled myself together. Dinner was over 1/2 hour late - a detail my boyfriend made sure to notice aloud - because I simply couldn't work around all the people in the house which happened to be the very reason I'd dreaded the huge numbers in the first place; but served it was, and miraculously so.
Thankfully, no cooking disasters ensued, and after everyone finally settled in, the comforting, quieted sound of lips smacking in satisfaction calmed my nerves considerably. I cheered up and made the rounds introducing myself. I took a few pictures. I even choked down a small plate of food despite having lost my appetite the moment I realized that I'd made a complete ass of myself before the first guest had gotten their coat off.
Three days of effort and a plan set for over a month in advance turned into nothing more than an expensive, elaborate effort to humiliate myself and drive a wedge between me and my partner. It's a no win situation criticizing the manners of another's family, especially when one's own family makes their manners look like Mother Theresa's. They are who they are and they were completely ignorant of their actions - probably still are even though I could not prevent myself from making it as painfully clear as one could that I was undone by them.
As a sacrificial guilt offering, I sent them home with three bags of leftovers including two whole pies and easily half a turkey.
I'm completely destroyed by this series of unfortunate events, and plan to stay in bed sulking for the rest of today. I wish I never had to face any of them again or anybody else for that matter (well, at least not today).
This morning they telephoned to see what my partner was up to. They mentioned we didn't include any breast meat in their to-go packages and asked him to bring some over so they could get a "whole" meal out of it....
Next year, I'm going to volunteer in a soup kitchen.
Choking down her humble pie,
KHT (no kisses this time..)
“Manners are a sensitive
awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you
have good manners, no matter what fork you use.” -- Emily Post
Recent Comments