If Saint Valentine Came to Dinner

I love the "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" tradition ... whether real or imagined, the idea of having specific men and women across the table from you creates fascinating scenarios. So in honor of the holiday, I wonder what it would be like if Saint Valentine came to dinner at No41.

After introductions at the door, I'd start with the obvious tour of modern-day appliances and technology. Since Val (which he insists I call him though it seems very disrespectful) was martyred for his faith back in the third century, he probably isn't up on all the contemporary world has to offer. What Pandora station would he prefer? Gregorian chant? A little after his time but probably more familiar than Mumford and Sons. I'd probably stick with a simple "meat and vegetables" kind of meal to put my time-traveling guest at ease, accompanied by a bottle of Chianti (from his supposed country of origin).

What I know of Val is insubstantial. There are many legends surrounding his life, none of which have been authenticated with any accuracy. He was likely a bishop in the early church, when it was under intense persecution from the Roman Empire. There's a story of his being arrested for marrying Christian couples. There's also a story of a judge asking him to restore the sight of his blind daughter; the miracle was followed by the conversion of the family to the Christian faith. Some storytellers have added an epilogue to the scene - that upon leaving, he sent a note to the daughter signed "Your Valentine". I bet if I brought that up to my guest he would become flustered and adamantly deny any such action. Or perhaps he is a romantic after all.

Don't Knock

It was a casual Sunday night supper. We were celebrating the completion of a project and spending some well-earned time around the table as friends. I made a pot of white chicken chili (recipe below) and set out guac and chips and a tossed green salad. Like I said, casual. I'm learning how much I enjoy having dinner done when guests arrive so I can be fully present with them from the moment they walk in the door. Not always possible when I'm playing around with new recipes but it's a goal of mine. Tonight the chili was happily bubbling away when the first person came through the door.

Without knocking. She just opened the door at No41 and let herself in. The next two friends did likewise. And that colored me all sorts of happy. We've all heard the cliché "There are friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends for a lifetime". I'm rewriting it ... "There are friends who knock, and there are friends who let themselves in."

Second Dates

I have invited boys over to No41 for dinner on two separate occasions in the past year. It was the second date in both instances.

The first time, I made Mar-a-lago Turkey Burgers from Shauna Niequist's book Bread & Wine (a book which comes with my highest possible recommendation!). I made the patties in the morning, wrapped them up and refrigerated until dinner time. Then I threw them in a grill pan on the stovetop since No41 doesn't accommodate an outdoor grill/BBQ (not that I have a clue how to use either). We ate them over a discussion of religion and politics. If we're going with the old cliché that you never talk about those topics in polite company, we were clearly and definitively unrefined that evening. But the burgers were delicious - would definitely recommend them as crowd pleasers with just the right amount of bite.

The second time, I made two recipes that heavily involved balsamic vinegar, not thinking about the fact that it would be infused into every corner of No41 and into every pore of my body. Luckily, he was Canadian and claimed that he grew up with balsamic vinegar on everything and didn't mind a bit. Despite those reassurances, that is not a menu I will be repeating.  

Notes for future: Always think about the resulting scents of the food I prepare for guests (i.e. balsamic vinegar does not usually create the best first impression - instead go for the classic standbys of bacon or chocolate chip cookies). Do not make something that requires standing over a hot stove when I want my hair and makeup to be presentable. Don't invite boys over until the third fourth date.

Buttermilk

I am first and foremost a baker. It's the thing I most remember doing in my mom's kitchen growing up. Cookies especially, lots and lots of cookies. That kitchen also witnessed several failed attempts at Pinterest quality frosting on cakes, so much so that it became a metaphor my mom used to deliver valuable life lessons. The kitchen at No41 has seen a few photo-ready cakes but there's been just as many that I haven't taken photos of. Baking for me (and I believe for many others) is one of my favorite ways to say "I care". My heart is full as I'm measuring the baking soda and washing the third bowl. 

Which brings me to one of my favorite baking ingredients: Buttermilk. I don't pretend to understand the science behind the recipes I make but when I see buttermilk in the ingredients list, I know I will be serving up something that make people go all warm and mushy inside.

Ode to 30

Thirty was a good year. A lot of experiences, conversations, small milestones, lessons I didn't want to learn but needed to, and people. People were the best part.

I started and ended my thirtieth year with bucket list items, both of which gave me joy I can't express in words. Both had to do with the women who were around the table.

A quiet table

I had grand plans. I've lived at No41 for over a year now and I'm ashamed to say I still don't know my neighbors very well. I'm grateful for the quiet apartment community I live in. But the quiet is paired with a reserved quality to interactions on the sidewalks and walkways. I value opportunities to have people around my table and hear their stories, what inspires them and what makes them ache. So to not know the people I share a laundry room with seems counterintuitive. This Christmas was going to be different. An open house I thought! Take a break from holiday shopping and come share a plate of pasta at No41. It was a perfect opportunity. People expect that kind of thing at Christmas. Come January and I might get weird looks at such an invitation.

December has a way of altering plans. "It's going around" came around to me just days before Christmas. I'm a terrible sick person. No really. This independent woman turns into a girl who wants her mommy to come make her headache go away and her tummy feel better. I find myself wondering how I will ever be a capable mother if I can't handle being sick by myself. Needless to say I took off my apron and exchanged it for fuzzy socks and a few doses of DayQuil.

Second Dinner

 

One very old friend (years known, not age) and one entirely new friend. A weeknight at the table with turkey bacon BLTs and butternut squash soup. The conversation began typically enough with things girls talk about when they're together. After bouncing around to topics including taste in men, shape of eyebrows, and our penchant to be theatrical in our cars the way people sing in their showers, we began delving into issues most people hash out on their therapists' couches. It was one of those unique conversations that was equal parts honesty and grace, laughter and uncomfortable recognitions. Around 11:30pm, we went back for a "second dinner" of leftover turkey bacon and sweet potato corn chips, determined to bring our issues in for a landing around midnight.  

I've had lots of vulnerable conversations with friends. This one wasn't vulnerable to be vulnerable. It wasn't about relating and commiserating. It was about looking for the "why" and challenging each other to be brave in the reality of that "why".

Notes for future: Don't put clocks in the living room/dining room - they can ruin rare nights like this. How does the saying go? I'll sleep when I'm dead? The answer to "More tea?" is always yes.