I Hosted Family Dinner. Here's What Happened.

I hosted family dinner last month. Eight people. In an apartment that was designed for approximately one and a half people, assuming the half person doesn't bring luggage.

The plan was simple: roast chicken, roasted vegetables, something for dessert. Three hours. I had done harder things.

I had not done harder things.

The Chicken Situation

The chicken took longer than expected. This is, I have since learned, always how it starts.

"Just another twenty minutes" is the most dangerous phrase in home cooking. It is a lie told with good intentions. My "just another twenty minutes" happened four consecutive times, meaning the chicken was done at approximately 9:15pm for a dinner that was supposed to be at 7.

My uncle arrived at 7. He sat in my only good chair for two hours and fifteen minutes, making observations about my apartment that I had not requested. He noticed my bookshelf needed dusting. He was correct. I wish he hadn't noticed.

The Vegetables

The vegetables were fine. The vegetables are always fine.

Vegetables don't have opinions about your cooking. You apply heat, they become edible. There's no anxiety in it. No checking the temperature every eleven minutes. No Googling "how do you know when a chicken is actually done" at 8:45pm with eight people in your living room.

I have a new appreciation for vegetables.

The Cake

For dessert I bought a cake from a very good bakery, brought it home, and arranged it on a plate as though I had made it myself.

My mum knew immediately. She looked at it, looked at me, and said nothing. That silence communicated more than any sentence could have. It was a full paragraph delivered without words.

The cake was delicious. We ate the whole thing.

What Actually Happened

Here's the part I didn't expect: it didn't matter.

The chicken was late. The apartment was too small. Three conversations were happening simultaneously and nobody could hear anyone and my uncle had strong opinions about a documentary nobody had seen.

They stayed until midnight.

At some point I looked around the room — at my family, loud and opinionated and slightly in each other's way — and realised this was exactly what a family dinner is supposed to be. Not the perfectly timed chicken. Just the people, in the same room, for a few hours.

The food is rarely the point. The staying is the point.

I'll do it again. I'll buy the cake from the same bakery. My mum will know again.

Hire a caterer for the chicken though. Seriously.