We live in an age of Martha Stewart's perfectionism, which apparently involves pinecone place cards and gold glittered Indian corn centerpieces. Add to that the holidays, a trying mix that includes entertaining houseguests, appeasing relatives and preparing a feast, and you can end up as one stressed host.
The stakes seem so high. What if our attempts to make grandma's dressing or Aunt Bess' pecan pie don't live up to memory? What if our siblings pick a fight before the turkey is even on the table? What if Uncle Jack gets drunk, again?
We want everything to be perfect. We sometimes forget that we should be thankful for imperfection.
I'm thankful for the lessons I've learned from dinner parties. The most important is this: give yourself a break.
There's only so much you can do. Pick a focus that plays to your strengths, whether that's cooking dinner, baking desserts or decorating your home. Ask for help with everything else and don't be afraid to take the easy route.
Two weeks ago when I decided to serve a Thanksgiving feast to my friends, after we had done the photo shoot for last week's food story, I didn't think twice about serving gravy from a jar, cranberry sauce from a can and dinner rolls courtesy of Sister Schubert's. When a friend offered to make a salad, I took her up on it. When another offered to clean up, I thought better of my initial refusal of help.
I had a lovely evening, connecting with old friends and getting to know new ones. Once the food was served, I was at the table, enjoying myself.
That's the difference between now and when my younger, more ambitious self (who had a love affair with complicated recipes) would spend the entire evening in the kitchen. That left me little time or energy to enjoy my guests. I hate to admit it, but I've even run out at the last minute to buy tablecloths and napkins, thinking that my feeble attempts at decorating weren't festive enough for Thanksgiving.
I'm thankful to leave those days behind.
Thursday when I serve Thanksgiving dinner to a small group of friends, everyone will contribute. I will bake a pecan pie and a pumpkin cheesecake. My husband will cook leg of lamb on the smoker. (One tip for holiday sanity is cooking the meat outside on the grill, in the smoker or in the deep-fryer. Luckily, many men who like to cook don't mind spending the day outside, drinking a beer and minding the meat.) A friend will make stuffed acorn squash and the homemade noodles that are his family's tradition. A third will clear the table.
My Thanksgiving is a far cry from the dinner table tableaus that appear in the pages of Martha Stewart Living. It is much more casual, shoes off, feet up on the coffee table, noshing followed by dinner on the screened porch if the weather is nice.
The plates won't match. The food is untraditional. The decorations remain feeble. But we'll be thankful to celebrate together.
