So, I’ve been on a bit of a personal journey as of late, one where I’m trying to release judgement and self-criticism, and to practice self-care as a daily necessity and not as an occasional luxury that I may-or-may-not deserve from time to time. Which in general has been great, but has had the unintended side effect of turning me into a tiny bit of a self-help recluse. With all of my deliberate focus on internal work, I’ve also inadvertently neglected my external life, and in particular, my friendships. As I found myself receding from my closest friendships, though, I started to feel a little…lost? Adrift, as it were. And I realized how much my most important relationships anchor me, and that a huge part of what fuels my spirit is my connection with close friends.
One of my favorite ways to connect with friends is entertaining à la maison. For me, cooking is love, a love to share with those closest to you, accompanied by great conversation and celebrated with a glass of champagne or delicious shaken cocktail apropos to the season. Over the years I’ve hosted many a salon, accompanied by a fine meal, whether in my own small apartments (my kitchens have always been filled to the brim with William-Sonoma appliances and Crate and Barrel ceramic-chic dining accoutrement) or in rental houses secured for big group holiday gatherings (in the past I’ve piled my car so full of my “must have” kitchen appliances for gourmet meal prep at a New Year’s rental house that the convertible top wouldn’t close, causing me to make the several-hours drive on the freeway with the top down, Sinatra blaring out of the car speakers, Vitamix blender teetering atop a pile of variously-sized Le Creuset dutch ovens and hanging on to its precarious perch for dear, sweet life).
But while entertaining with friends has brought me a lot of joy, it hasn’t been without its stresses, mostly because it tends to bring out my inner-perfectionist, which tends to bring out my inner self-critic, which results in a bit of social paralysis. The part of me that thinks that my current fixer-upper of a home isn’t in “entertaining-worthy” shape shies away from inviting people over, because I worry that my guests deserve better; the part of me that thinks that my place settings need to be worthy of a Martha Stewart Weddings feature and that the meals I serve need to be at least three courses and 100% made from scratch by my own hand avoids hosting a dinner party because my things are so busy at work and who has the time; the part of me that thinks that my home needs to look like a Restoration Hardware catalog spread believes that I don’t have the money to really invest in the necessary furnishings to make my guests feel truly welcome. It’s almost as if I sometimes have an episode of Real Housewives of New York running in the background of my mind, and my inner Ramona, fiercely opinionated, decidedly loud, and always a tiny bit drunk, bursts into my home, looks around, shades me for buying “south of the highway” (which she would *never* do), declares it a tear-down, and then starts rummaging through my cupboards and complaining about the quality of my glassware and the wine I’m serving; and then my inner Luann, clad in cashmere and somewhat subtle diamonds, tries to shush my inner Ramona (although deep down inside she agrees with inner Ramona which is why she has brought a bottle of wine that she finds palatable in her Birkin as a “housewarming gift” for us to open for dinner) but Ramona won’t stop and now she’s in the living room poking around the throw pillows and asking how long I’ve had my couches because they’re really starting to show some wear and have I considered getting new ones and her voice gets louder and louder telling me that I should really invest in some Jo Malone candles and why is that entire wall bare I’m not going to leave it that way am I and you know I should really invest in some fine art and it doesn’t matter how hard Luann and I try to get her to settle down she just keeps going on and on about everything that could be so much better about my home because INNER RAMONA JUST WON’T SHUT UP.
This social inertia, borne of the combination of self-help-hermit plus entertaining-perfectionist, certainly wasn’t doing my friendships any favors, and was threatening to make me lonely and miserable in the process. So my life coach (I know, I know…#losangelesproblems) challenged me to change that and to start entertaining again, but in a way where I drop the Type-A pretense. No more excuses…entertaining, after all, is about the people, not the perfectionism.
Yes, yes, of course it’s about the people, life coach, but...I’m sorry, but did you just ask me to let go of perfectionism? After a lifetime of curating gatherings with painstakingly-prepared amuse bouche, artisanally-crafted cocktails, precisely-seared steaks, meticulously-assembled petit four? Sacré bleu c’est impossible.
But here’s the thing. I missed my friends, damnit. And I kind of enjoy a good challenge. And, even if I could agree to let go of my emotional security blanket of debilitating perfectionism, that didn’t necessarily mean that I had to let go of my own good taste in the process, did it? Je refuse.
And so I accepted the challenge, somewhat revised: to host an elegant, intimate gathering that included all of the beautiful accoutrements that I would be proud of, but minus the stress I was used to in the process; a gathering that I could prep quickly, that didn’t require hours and hours of investment of my time, but looked like it did. An easy to plan gathering that would allow me to be present in the moment with my friends, and to actually enjoy myself. An entertaining model that I could easily replicate over and over again, with little tweaks here and there, so I’d never again have the excuse that I don’t have the time, the money, or the emotional bandwidth to host my friends for a meal and conversation. I immediately reached out to three girlfriends, and invited them over to my home for brunch the following Sunday. We were doing this.
Now, with invitations accepted and the date set, where could I turn for help to actually execute this plan? How was this thoughtful, sophisticated meal going to come to pass, if not from me working over a hot stove for days on end, or painstakingly scouring the city of Los Angeles for just the right tone-setting décor touches?
Enter my savior: Trader Joe’s. Well known for being easy (with the notable exception of the roller derby that is the parking lot), and inexpensive. But could its fare rise to the challenge of also masquerading as casually-fancy as well?
Indeed, it did. I think Martha Stewart (at least, the 2.0 version of Martha who hosts a cooking show with Snoop; perhaps not the original, pre-prison Martha) would be proud.
And it was, shockingly, virtually effortless to put together, while still looking pretty chic. Very nothing to see here, just another casually fancy afternoon at Leighwood. Very #Iwokeuplikethis.
So how did this all come together? In a later post, take a look into my TJ’s shopping basket for the key purchases that made this brunch a breeze. But for now, bon appétit!
Danice