Hours in the Kitchen

A few Friday nights ago, we welcomed eleven guests. In other words, I was cooking for thirteen. I used to do that, not quite with one hand behind my back but with relative ease. When all the kids were home our family by itself made up three-quarters of that number. And they made a wonderful kitchen crew. Adding four to six guests was pretty standard.

It no longer is. The children are grown and while we love having them join us, most live too far to do so regularly. With much gratitude to God, we cannot even fit all their families into our dining room at the same time.

But we can fit fourteen people around our table (if they’re friendly) and we were going to be near that maximum. With a crowd coming, it would make sense to craft a menu with tried and true, easy favorites. Surely, I should pull out the quickest soup, one-step chicken or meat, and simplest side dishes. I have an old standby of a one-bowl cake recipe that everyone loves. Quick and with a no-nonsense cleanup.

So why did I choose to make a soup that required peeling a batch of tomatoes, a chicken and a meat main dish, and more than a few side dishes? I added cookies and two pies, requiring six times the work and six times more dirty dishes than my basic cake needs. It makes no rational sense.

But it does make emotional sense. Allow me to digress to make a point.

My husband and I do not take for granted that we live in a city with a variety of kosher eat-out options. In the past, where we lived did not offer that diversity. But we don’t spread our patronage evenly. What divides the cafes and restaurants we frequent from those that we rarely enter?

The quality of the food obviously plays a part. But even more so does the attitude of the proprietors and staff. Not surprisingly, the two qualifications often match up. We recently tried out a new offering. The joy with which the owner greeted us and the enthusiasm with which she described her dinner recommendation made us glad to be there. The dish lived up to her promise.

In contrast, there is a place we mostly avoid. The owner’s welcome is apathetic, the staff is listless, and the quality of the food matches the general mediocrity.

There are certainly times where the only question I have about hosting a meal is, “How can I do this with the least amount of work?” If I have to, with the help of my trusty freezer, I can pull Friday night supper together pretty quickly. But the weeks where I plan, rummage through new recipes, and take the time to embellish and add extra touch are the weeks that I have fun—and the food usually reflects that.

Isn’t this true for all that we do? When we devote more than the minimum to our family, work, friendships, fitness, and faith we gain more in return. Not only do these areas flourish, but our delight in them rises as well. It is a bountiful cycle. We can—and sometimes need to—reach for shortcuts, efficiencies, and effort and time-saving options. Making that our default and using them too often can also short circuit our joy. Our Friday night table was both delicious and a pleasure. My time invested in preparing the food was the background music to that celebration.

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