In my family, every event begins with a 2-hour bacchanalian orgy of appetizers. There is a huge table of them, and everyone crowds around with a festive spirit and completely without shame. We gossip, laugh, and drink wine for so long that, by the time the meal is finally served, every appetizer plate and bowl is scraped clean and we are all so tipsy and full and exhausted from laughing that no one really cares what's for dinner.
That's just another reason why Mr. Twinkle's family is so foreign to me. There are never any cocktails or appetizers at his mother's house, which always makes for a sober and dour time. But I'm here to talk about his grandmother's house.
She serves a tiny tray of little hot dogs in a puff pastry and other little things like that, on a tiny little table in the corner of her den. You walk into the room and everyone is sitting down (always an atmosphere-killer), usually in silence, just watching anyone who dares to approach the appetizer table. I feel completely awkward helping myself to whatever veggie option is there (y'all know I only eat humane meat, and I doubt those little hot dogs lived happy lives). Anyone who dares to approach the appetizer table more than once is judged, so by the time the meal is served, there is still half a tray of sad little hot dogs sitting there all lonely.
My family would have polished off those sons-of-bitches in three minutes flat.
Tonight Mr. Twinkle's cousin dared to have more than one of them, and that girl's grandmother, the high-strung Aunt Irene, said all judgmentally, "You're not going to be hungry for dinner," as if this girl were a child, which she is not. For me, it's all about the appetizers; I couldn't care less what's for dinner (especially there, where all they ever serve is meat that I don't eat and some flavorless vegetable without any seasoning). So what if you're not hungry for dinner? As an adult, it's your business, not Aunt Irene's.
I think that they are missing out on festive, gossipy times around a bowl of dip. Of course, my dour MIL would never think of being catty and would never gossip for the sheer pleasure of it. The closest she gets is when she's fired up with righteous indignation about something-or-other, or when she judges someone for having too many children too close together. Her self-control around the decadent desserts (that she personally makes but rarely indulges in) mirrors her self-control regarding cattiness. In my family, the girls will sit around a plate of brownies/bowl of M&Ms/log of cheese and dish, gossip, and laugh until someone says, "Take these M&Ms away from me," and shoves them down the table for someone else to gorge on. (This is slightly different from the orgiastic feast of cocktail hour...it still involves a measure of gluttony but it's a more intimate setting).
And that is what I want for my children. When my girls are older I want them to, occasionally, sit down at the kitchen table with me and tell me funny stories and not be afraid to indulge in cattiness and more than one brownie. Not all the time, of course--I want them to be healthy and well and not morbidly obese, naturally--but I honestly think that's how memories are made and that's how relationships stay close. Maybe if my inlaws were less judgy and more fun, I would have that kind of relationship with them--I honestly wish it were possible. But the opportunity is never there, because the family culture is hostile to gluttony and gossip. It's their grievous loss.
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