Dining by the Dozen

Once upon a time, I walked into our dining room and observed a teen-age carpet. Strewn across the dark chocolate space were bodies askew, slumbering selves recovering from the previous night's party. Looking at mussed hair and slightly tangled clothing, I noticed a few faces that hadn't been there some hours earlier when the door to our bedroom closed gently. Apparently as we slept, more friends arrived. We heard nothing so deep was our reverie.

Last Friday night our house expanded to enfold precious family and a cadre of friends, both fresh and forever. Before everyone arrived in the desert there were lengthy discussions about the menu and guest list. What to serve ten adults and two children? How do we accommodate those whose food 'likes' are rather limited and yet please others with more eclectic tastes? Did I mention dessert? Homemade or bought? Both? Yes. Let's choose something easy on the designated cooks. Pizza? Such a risk when five of the diners are native New Yorkers and everyone knows the world's best pizza originates there. We'll chance it and trust that SoCal versions will suffice this one night. After all, it isn't about the food. It's about the people eating it.

The familial table with its garish blemish, a small space where the top layer of wood no longer exists, seats eight easily. OK. What about the other four? Improvisation is required. Move the massive table and set it lengthwise in the room. Scoot table and chairs closer to the outside wall. Leave space for a smaller table, two chairs and two 'just right' stools. The gateleg table is nearly two hundred years old and usually sits with sides folded down against a south-facing wall in the family room. It belonged to my brother and is a precious legacy that brings me continued comfort in his permanent absence.

White place mats and matching napkins are colorized by bright daisy napkin rings. We're using paper plates tonight, again in deference to those who would be charged with clean-up duties. The second table sports cream place mats, orange/green/yellow striped napkins and russet metal flower napkin rings.



We'll serve from the breakfast bar. Three 18" pizzas from Bill's in downtown. They know us from previous orders and greet Henry by name when he arrives at the restaurant.

With an array of toppings on the menu, it takes a while to make the final choices. The easiest decision is a simple cheese with red sauce. Satisfies many palates. Less mundane are 'Christine's Rocker Pizza' [oil and garlic, Sicilian sausage, caramelized onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, pepperoni and black olives,] and 'Elton John' [red sauce, artichoke hearts, tomatoes, cooked spinach, red onions and four cheeses plus feta.]

Hummus (three kinds), baked chips, veggies and two salads [one with mixed greens, almond slices, mandarin oranges and raspberry vinaigrette] add variety to the meal. Fat Tire beer interests the young adult guests while others are more than content with tea or water.

We're settled, talking easily. I'm beaming, inside and out. How I longed for these people to grace our house at the same time.



Caitlin hasn't seen her cousin Keith in nine years. Her second cousins, Drew and Brooke, are nine and seven, respectively. The sisters' whole lives have been Caitlin-less. We're establishing relationships anew.

Conor and Jonathan, Caitlin's Portland friends, may feel somewhat adrift as family stories proliferate but they join the conversation with ease. Everyone is cordial, engaged, interesting and interested. It's a splendid gathering and one of historic proportions.

With copious amounts of pizza consumed and the salads vanquished, dessert beckons. Ralphs, my regular grocery store, is a good source for tasty chocolate cake with whipped icing. I've also made my standard Lemon Apricot Cake, much touted by my daughter.



The doorbell rings. More company. The neighbors, Shawn, Gilly, Hanna and Jessy, are joined by friends from Vienna, Mikael, Claudia and Linnea. Now we are nineteen. Clusters congregate in the kitchen, living room, hallways. Five little girls flit from place to place, watching a movie, eating cake. The noise level ascends and I have a feeling that I need to hit the pause button and capture these moments eternally. My head and heart will have to hold the evening because I can't stop it from ending.



The two adult cousins are deep in conversation. I look at them and see a 22 year old young man, newly graduated from Penn and his then seven-year old cousin. Such changes in the last 22 years. Both are so charming, self-assured, content, and posses enviable social skills that draw people to them instantly. They are kin and also kindred spirits.



It's late, children are drooping as are a few adults. Departures reduce the crowd and soon our exquisite night will be concluding. I have one last request. A photo of the three generations assembled who descend from Maurice and Sylvia. Six people total. We settle for five. I consider how proud Carol and Henry's parents would be of each of them.



We've dined divinely this night.