When it comes to social conventions and customs, I am the pig to whom makeup has been applied so it can then masquerade as a bull before he enters a china shop. I am either clueless of conventions or know customs and break them with pitiful gracelessness. This charm of mine was on full display during wedding planning with my wife and our families.
All along the way, I discovered unwritten rules and expectations that I had not previously known -- things like bridal party members receive plus-ones whether they have significant others or not, guests who share that they cannot come upon receiving save-the-dates receive invitations nonetheless in order to formally decline, and more. What’s more, my ignorance and the related frustration was then compounded because all of these rules are actually arbitrary and can in fact be broken or amended and I was unqualified to identify those times when rule-bending was allowed. Oof. Let’s just say married life suits me better than engaged life.
I just don’t seem to have the poise and awareness to function well in social conventionality. Part of it is the Seinfeldian observational humorist inside me. When I see something fishy, I usually can’t help but call it out for what it is, and typically that goes against the grain of what I should be doing. The other part is the minimalist simpleton who I am, who prefers the quick-and-dirty, the straight-forward, the basic versions of most things. It’s a grating combination for those in my orbit, I’m sure. Being surrounded by many accomplished hosts all across my family, friend groups, and different areas of my life, I often feel a bit outcast and outlierish.This all comes to a head when I’m with larger groups for social gatherings like holiday get-togethers, birthday parties, and other social outings that involve large meals, because the dominant modes of hospitality stymie me. The dictionary definition of hospitality is “the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.” I’d say, in my own layman’s terms, that hospitality is receiving others into your home, or another setting you’ve facilitated as host, and making them feel welcome and cared-for; typically that involves food, drink, conversation, and the chance to socialize enjoyably.
Yet, for some reason, hospitality often is largely about excess. I’ve seen it in the Midwest and the South, in Ireland and Italy, among Germans and Mexicans, from millennials and boomers. If you’re not overdoing it, you’re not hosting. Gatherings of ten people have to have enough food for fifteen, and nights that may call for a couple six-packs or two bottles of wine have to be stocked like an open bar wedding.
I think there’s at least three odd presumptions here.
First, it’s assumed that most everyone will take home extras and leftovers. Sure, sometimes some people could use the leftovers as a quick lunch, a meal for work, etc. Other times, people just shopped for their groceries or don’t enjoy leftovers or are leaving town tomorrow. I’ve been both witness to and recipient of the “invitold” leftover; it often feels like my host just wants me to take it so they don’t have to eat it or guiltily throw it away.1Second, it feels like people think that folks will be offended if the host runs out of something, or worse, label the host as a “bad host” for under-preparing for guests. Sure, if you’ve got a tray of glorious chicken strips that I’ve been eyeing and it then runs out, I might be bummed. But I also might be an adult and eat the other foods that are offered or simply be grateful to have been hosted and served. It can be hard to predict how much everyone will want, but it feels like we tend to overshoot it by a lot, perhaps out of fear.
Third, there’s this weird expectation that excess also has to include a ton of options. We definitely live in a day when food allergies and more narrow diets are more front of mind, but most of the time, it doesn’t seem like catering to that is the chief motivation. Seeing spreads with both ham and turkey,2 with five different sides instead of one or two, with a dessert table instead of one central dessert -- I think people expect quantity to more easily impress. Making one thing really well is seemingly more risky; a myriad of options gives people control and the chance to find the thing they like (though they still may not find their favorite!).3
Finally, when it comes to curating these options to guests, I often feel compelled or even coerced to consume and embibe at a dangerous clip. Hosts narrate the options I have for appetizers, drinks, main meal, and dessert. Then, they may ask me if I want something, but often, they’re not interested in my actual answer, instead skipping ahead to getting me something they’ve prepared and want to share. If I take a smaller portion of some main dish or dessert, or God forbid, even decline dessert altogether, I’m almost certain to be thought of as rude.4 I usually feel not like I’m being hosted but like I’m being run through a restaurant week fixed menu or something.
Ultimately, I will certainly sound like an ingrate. And to some extent, I just am. I always have wonderings about others’ thought processes, choices, and MOs. And my curiosity usually manifests as somewhere between skeptical or critical. Can’t you just appreciate being hosted, Dan!? No, I wish. God made me analytical, and He wired my analysis to loop back and forth with my spirit. Hence The Restless Hearts blog title. Gotta keep seeking rest in God via pilgrimage through an engaged life of faith.
I think a few things would sate my crusty old grumpy soul. First, I feel much more at ease when hosting and hospitality are transparent and communicative. I am much more anxious walking into a situation where I know nothing about the shape of things; I am way more comfortable when I know how the night was planned, who was invited, and what people were asked to bring/not bring, etc. because the hosts share that all ahead of time. That all makes it feel more like hospitality to me.5
Most of all, nothing would make me more relaxed than knowing that excess has been mitigated. Have the amount of food and drink been closely estimated to reflect the amount of people coming and their appetites? Or, if a host insists on making extra or feels it’s too difficult to guess on quantity, are there arrangements penciled in to take care of the leftovers? And I mean a greater arrangement than forcing leftovers on hesitant guests and/or the kitchen garbage can. Maybe hosts of larger gatherings could even grossly overestimate their output because they’ve prearranged with a soup kitchen to take half the yield as their supper to serve the next day? That’d be a party I want to attend.The sum of hospitality is that is has to be done in a way that is honest gift, or it isn’t love. Insistence on excess food, tons of options, and no empty hands declining drinks or empty plates taking small portions feels like genuflection to a social convention rather than honoring a beloved guest. The menu of food and drink can’t be so important that it overshadows the very guests it was curated to serve. And fueling the throwaway culture with careless excess of food and drink dishonors our solidarity with those who go without each night. The love of hospitality is so fundamentally about giving, but to really be love, it must also receive.
1 There are certainly times when we aren’t leaving town or haven’t recently shopped for groceries when I happily receive leftovers. I was just at a birthday party where my party favor was a bag of extra fajita meat. Yum. However, at a family Christmas party on December 22, I feel like I personally insulted my aunt when I told her I’d be at parties where the food/dessert/etc. was already spoken for on each of the next three days and declined to take anything but a handful of sweets home.↩
2 Full disclosure: my wife, Katherine, and I made steak and salmon for Christmas Day with our family. However, our whole meal fit on a salad plate. Small portions of each, a neat pile of green beans, and a twice-baked potato half. We finished the sides that day, and the leftover steak became quesadillas for a subsequent lunch.↩
3 One of the myths of the technological/social media age is that more choices are better. As well profiled by comedian/amateur social scientist Aziz Ansari in his book Modern Romance, having more choices often breeds greater indecision and creates impossibly high bars for what should be easy calls.↩
4 Again, I have larger problems with tone and body language that make me seem like a grumpy jerk. But you can’t tell me I’m thin and look good AND expect me to overeat and pound desserts. I prefer regular self-denial and occasional milkshakes.
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5 I don’t need a minute-by-minute accounting of the night’s plans, but I don’t like flying blind. Do I bring something or not? Is it a full meal or just “heavy hors d'oeuvres”? (Whoever popularized that, to heck with you. I need real meals.) Is it a big gathering that will intimidate introverts or a small, chill crowd and/or familiar folks with whom I can relax?↩
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