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husband making fondue, andrew swiping bread
The conversation starts so innocently with, “So…what are your plans this week?” Before sensibility, 3 loads of laundry and my mile long to-do list can catch up to my big mouth, I’ve already invited half the neighborhood over for supper. As the “gourmet chef” amongst my friends, it’s been a natural progression over the past few years to just consider my home the free local restaurant. Normally, this is a great thing, as my friends are recipients of recipe testing and my fanciful food experimentations. Plus, they bring wine, laughter, cute kids and sometimes even help wash the dishes afterwards.
But it’s getting old.
It would just be nice to be invited to someone’s house for a change. To not have to plan menu, shop, prep and crazily clean the house 15 minutes before guests arrive. And when I say “clean,” I really mean throw toys in the closet, scootch cracker crumbs under the couch with my feet, swipe the layer of dust on the glass table with my forearm and stash away traces of super convenience foods like Rice-a-Roni, instant ramen and Betty Crocker. You know, items that a gourmet chef would never be caught dead with in her kitchen.
Most of my friends would rather treat us out for dinner occasionally, sparing themselves of the unnecessary stress of entertaining. Maybe it’s the fear factor of what to prepare for someone who cooks and writes about food for a living. Oh but how I long to let my kids mess up their house, spill a little red wine on their cheap ass carpet, ask them difficult math questions while they are orchestrating the final touches of 5 dishes to be served steaming hot simultaneously, and get deliriously drunk and “forget” to help clean the kitchen…..continued….
