“I grate beets and carrots or buy them grated — if I buy the beets that are roasted I just cut them into chunks. Baby or normal kale — take the stalk off and massage it so it softens (just put in a bowl of water and massage for a bit then drain). You should get a really ridiculously big bowl to make this. Before you dress it it becomes very big indeed. Oh and cilantro. That’s the key, but some people hate it. But whatever.”
That’s my mom’s recipe — sent through several text messages — for her signature salad she makes for guests.
I had asked for the recipe because I was hosting a holiday party with my roommates. The salad befits dinner parties because of its large volume and its crowd-pleasing tendencies, despite its often-controversial ingredients (kale, shredded beets, cilantro, et cetera).
Growing up, it seemed every other week my family would have a dinner party with my parents’ friends. They, by extension, became part of my family. A random Tuesday would suddenly become a reprieve in the form of food and fun conversation with friends in between our hectic days. Regulars included Breanne, who always made hummus out of beets or another unique vegetable, and Mikayla, who always brought various salads and cocktails.
We had barbecues, Sunday roasts and casual dinners. Although I stood out as a very shy and socially awkward child, the invitees always made me feel welcome, asking me questions about myself or inviting me to try a dish on the table.
These traditions have always drawn me to the dinner party scene, but in the first few years of college, I didn’t really have the right kitchen to construct a proper dinner. (The 10’ by 3’ kitchens of East Fairchild don’t exactly lend themselves to hosting).
When I moved into my first apartment this year, I felt like it was my responsibility to bring dinner parties to my college experience.
My roommates and I have hosted several formal dinner parties, such as a holiday potluck for the rowing team (where I made the aforementioned salad) and an art party where friends crafted and ate appetizers. I always love a reason to dress up, so these events were a perfect excuse for me to be put together and see everyone’s cute outfits.
But even just making summer rolls with my roommates or eating dinner on the floor of our kitchen can feel like a dinner party in itself. Having a simple homemade meal with loved ones creates a sense of calm and joy for me. Conversation flows easily, laughter abounds and good food is a given.
Acts of service are always involved in the dinner party experience as well. I am grateful for friends and guests who offer to clean up dishes or bring food to help, even though my roommates and I already find joy in hosting. As in my dinner parties at home, the guests make the cleaning process fun rather than grueling.
In hosting dinner parties, I also found comfort and routine in cutting a cucumber the same way my mom does, thinking of my dog at home that always eats the ends. Since I am now the host, I obviously can’t be as shy as I was as a child (and in general, I’m not anymore). I’m heavily involved in the set up and make sure to talk to new people to make them feel comfortable, as I saw my mom do when I was a kid. And I feel the same excitement of seeing my friends in a new setting, wherein everyone can take a break from their everyday lives and reconnect.
At the holiday party, I made way too much salad with haphazardly chopped vegetables and an unideal kale-to-beet ratio. But, I felt the same excitement I felt at home helping my mom make food that people enjoyed.
I have realized that what makes a dinner party is not the fanfare or expensive place settings (though those dinner parties are valuable in their own right). Instead, it’s the company you keep, the way that spending time together over a meal allows you to revisit old memories, create new inside jokes and feel a little fancy.
In other words, hosting a dinner party involves creating a meal and feeling gratitude for the people that surround you. It brings you back to key details of life that are sometimes overlooked, from lively conversations with loved ones to a hint of cilantro in your salad.
