How to Host a Dinner Party (23 page)

Serves four.

QUINOA AND DATE SALAD

Pit and dice the dates.

In a food processor or with a mortar and pestle, loosely crush the almonds without turning them into paste.

Heat a large pot of water to a medium boil. Add the quinoa. Cook until soft but still crunchy, about twenty minutes. Strain. Mix with the olive oil, lemon zest, ginger, cinnamon, dates, and half of almonds. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Assemble in bowls. Garnish the with remaining almonds and the crumbled goat cheese, torn into chunks.

Serves four.

“
J
ustice should not only be done,” decreed Lord Chief Justice Gordon Hewart, “but should manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done.” Let this axiom wash over the thanking process.

There is a difference between appreciation and showing appreciation. And if we want it to count, to be clear, we must make a display of it, no matter how much it feels like your stepmother is forcing you to write thank-you notes to everyone who came to your bar mitzvah.

THE THANK YOU

 
 We used to believe that man was elevated above animal by our use of tools. Then Jane Goodall observed chimpanzees using sticks to pull delicious termites from their mounds, and we were cast back down among our savage ancestors.

Now we know that what truly separates us from the beasts of the jungle is a thank-you letter. I’d like to see some hyena send even so much as an appreciative text message, thanking a vulture for sharing a gazelle carcass.

I have received all manner of thank-you gestures. Guests have sent emails, cards, texts, and tweets. They’ve left Nutella in my mailbox and stopped by with heads of broccoli. They’ve even called, which I don’t care for since, outside of hosting a dinner party every week, I’m actually a bit of a misanthrope and don’t like talking on the phone.

What these all have in common is that they are gestures, symbolic acts undertaken to communicate one person’s gratitude to another. No one owes us anything, but the act of taking time to express a nice sentiment is always worth it.

Guests, I know you said the words “thank you” at the end of the night. It may seem redundant to say it again, but we say thank you to a stranger for holding a door open for us. A friend who has hosted a dinner deserves a little more.

I used to be uptight about how I was thanked. Now I’ll take whatever I can get. It’s just the acknowledgement that’s important. I wouldn’t say that any thank you is superior to another, but I would imply it.

It’s nice to get something thoughtfully written. We don’t need to get too elaborate, going into a play-by-play synopsis of the evening. Two sentences are all anyone needs to get this message across. A handwritten card, or any mail that isn’t a bill or a flyer, is so rare these days that it’s a treat.

Couples, you can co-thank, but make it clear that it’s from both of you by using the first-person plural. “I had a great time,” is not from both of you. Maybe you’ve gotten used to living for two as a default lifestyle, but your language choices need to reflect that. It’s “We had a great time. Thanks for dinner.”

Guests, send a thank you within one week of the dinner. Hosts, don’t hold it against people if you don’t get a thank you. Remember that your friends are busy, and also consider their extenuating circumstances. Sometimes people are getting on a plane the next morning, so sending a thank-you email is not their first priority.

THE RECIPROCATION

 
 Like it or not, reciprocation makes the world go around. I phrase it this way because there are some who bristle at the mention of tit-for-tat, quid pro quo, one hand washing the other, etc. Some might rightfully suggest that it is gauche to keep a ledger of our social credits and debits, and they’re right. It is tacky. But it is also how life works.

When we find ourselves in relationships, social or professional, where one party is doing all the giving and the other is doing all the taking, resentment will build up.

Whether one person is buying all the milk, changing all the diapers, or choosing all the movies, it’s got to be balanced by something, or eventually it’s going to pop. We’ll be flossing one night, a reasonable prevention against the buildup of plaque, and we’ll ask our partner, “Honey, have you noticed that we’ve had over the Fidermens like, six times, and they’ve never invited us for dinner?”

The answer to this is silence. We don’t like acknowledging a friendship imbalance, that we are doing more for someone than they do for us. It may seem mercenary to keep a social ledger, because that’s not what friendship is. It’s just better to stay one step ahead of this before it becomes a problem.

Hosting a good dinner should mean being invited to another, but not everyone wants to host. Don’t be pissed if friends never invite you. Maybe they don’t host dinner parties. Some people don’t cook, don’t have a suitable dinner table, or just don’t like having guests in their home. They are entitled to that, but if these are friends you socialize with regularly, and you are inviting them over regularly, then they should reciprocate in some way. The most obvious way to do that is for them to pick up the bill the next time you’re eating out together.

A lady or gentleman wouldn’t dream of declaring this sort of social debt, but then a lady or gentleman also wouldn’t express that, while they’ve enjoyed several great meals at your home and would love to have you over, they don’t cook, or are nervous about cooking for you. Now I respect the duplicity of that statement. It’s a brilliant bit of legalese that translates as “my inadequacy excuses me from the golden rule.” That line is to the thank you what “I’m sorry you feel that way” is to the apology.

If you keep hearing this from friends, it is the signal to play your trump card. “Oh, you don’t have to have us over,” you say. “You can just buy dinner the next time we’re out.”

CORNBREAD

I have eaten a hundred different cornbreads. Some had pockets of corn or cheddar. Some were dense, others crumbly. I’ve had them baked as little cakes and sliced from big loaves. As long as it is good, there is no firm rule on how a cornbread should be. Here is a recipe that I got from Toronto chef Cory Vitiello. I’ve adjusted it slightly, just as he changed it from whoever taught him, and you will add or subtract based on what you like about it.