These Are My Friends

My cousin recently visited Italy. While he was there, he stayed with friends at an Airbnb.  They were trying to decide where to eat one night, and their host got wind of it. He came over and told them about a great place a short walk away. He then charmingly escorted them to the restaurant, introduced them to the owners, and with arms outstretched, he boisterously exclaimed “These are my friends. Make them fat!”

I love this story! Who wouldn’t want to be welcomed like this?!?

I come from a long line of hospitable people. My paternal grandparents were Italian immigrants from Castel Frentano.

They had 12 children and not a lot of money. But they always had a seat at the table for anyone, even unexpected guests. Their house was full of noise, food, and love. Homemade spaghetti, meatballs, and red sauce were the staple, and you could not leave the table until you had turned down more helpings at least twice.

My maternal grandmother was known far and wide as a cook and hostess. In my mind, her pie is the standard against which all others are judged.  My mom and dad are the same. When you are in their home, you are treated like royalty. Everyone loves coming to their house. Mom’s cooking? Notorious.

It’s not hard to understand why I view hospitality as a form of loving others. Cooking gives me a chance to be creative, and I adore losing myself in the rituals of chopping, stirring, and tasting. Spending time in the kitchen reduces my stress more than that same amount of time on the couch ever could. And to share what I make with those I love – well, it’s just perfect. Where sincere love lives, there you’ll find hospitality.

But hospitality doesn’t have to be gourmet food staged perfectly in a spotless home. Bear with me as I’m just learning this.  Others have schooled me on this principle much better than I ever could to you.  My husband has very gently worked over the years to change my thinking on this matter. His reasoning is sound. If we want to have the sort of house others come to a lot and anytime they wish, we either have to assure it is spotless every minute of every day or just simply get over it. And, who wants to live in or visit a perfect home anyway? So, I’ve come over to The Light, and I’m working on living this out every day.

Maybe my house isn’t the cleanest or the largest, or maybe I’m not the most organized, but maybe that means I won’t intimidate anyone. Maybe it’s good for someone to walk into my open home and get a sense of the life that happens here, even if it’s not Pinterest-worthy. I know he’s right. This boils down to a pride issue, and I just need to stoppppp. The best times I’ve had with others have been in homes where the hosts don’t worry about things being perfect. They get that our worth is not found in these things.

So…do what I say not what I do. And pray for me that I’ll continue to overcome it.

Some people, though, really enjoy the act of preparing food. It brings us joy. So, I’ll most likely still serve food over which I’ve labored like Grandma’s meatballs. It gives me a sense of Family and Tradition.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to do this. If you’re not a cook or don’t know how to throw a party, please still have “our kind” over.  You probably think we judge you, but we don’t. I think people avoid having cooks over because they don’t want to compete. We just want to be part of your home and don’t want to be excluded. Hey, order a pizza! And just to show that you understand and love us just as we are, ask if we want to bring a dessert.  We’ll knock ourselves out, not because we’re trying to outshine you, but because we love to make it and show we love you by giving it to you.

Stopover and get fat. While you’re at it, I have some dishes that need doing.

Looking for that partner you can make meatballs with and have people over to eat them? Try this.

Know Where to Look to Find the Right Partner