Be my guest

Your fingers tear along the seal of an envelope and pull out a card decorated with tiny autumn leaves and looping cursive handwriting. "You're invited to..." Carol's 5th birthday party, Andrew's bar mitzvah, the Randall's Thanksgiving dinner. The letter beckons you to "be our guest," to put our service to the test - like a dinner scene from Beauty and the Beast ... minus the dancing plates and silverware. The idea is that you're invited. Someone wants you to be part of their celebration.

For the past four years, I've always been the one invited to Thanksgiving dinner. It feels wonderful to be asked to share such a special holiday with people that I care about, but I'm looking forward to the day when I will be the one asking friends and family to my place and eat around my table. At the risk of sounding sappy, there's just something special about opening up your space as home-base for the holidays. It's your turn to give back to those who have offered their homes to you over the years, your chance to treat them to something that shows your thankfulness and care.

This Thanksgiving, my cousin Collier, along with his wife, Julie, invited me and 27 other family members to their beautiful, spacious home in northwest Arkansas. I walked up to their doorway armed with a silver serving dish full of sweet potato casserole and my pancetta Brussels sprouts. When Collier opened the door, my gaze instantly floated to the table, mesmerised by the plates and chargers arranged around a Christmas centerpiece. Red and white tool was woven with green garland, strung from the balcony that overlooked the bustling kitchen, filled with Thanksgiving dishes. Their house smelled like cinnamon and sage, evidence of the stuffing, turkey and pies that were waiting to be devoured by hungry guests. While I was excited to be part of the celebration, I couldn't help but think what Collier and Julie must have felt like, having all this merriment that was about to take place in their home.

The whole afternoon, we mingled, munched and marveled at the feast that everyone had so thoughtfully prepared. Collier and Julie hosted us to a meal where we could relax, enjoy and catch up with those who we haven't seen in months, and in my case, years! Their house encapsulated a moment of family togetherness that I will always associate with this holiday. Their graciousness to provide their family table as the place for this lively, quirky bunch to gather, allowed me to experience the magic of a big family, something that I always think about and am now starting to feel apart of.

Yes, it feels great to be the one who's invited, but to offer your home as the place of togetherness - that's where the heart of the family table truly subsides.

Bake because you're needed

It feels good to be needed - to have someone that recognizes the space you fill in their world. A child that asks you to tie their shoelaces; a son that asks his father how to fasten a corsage on his date's wrist; a girl that asks for her former teacher to help arrange a song for her harp recital. Being needed makes us feel wanted, and being wanted gives us meaning.

This is why I think people love to bake, because they want to feel needed... in a good way! When you spend two hours making that pumpkin pie - sifting flour and sugar, rolling out the dough for the flaky crust recipe you researched online, taking the whisk to a homemade batch of silky whipped cream to dollop on top of the slice you'll serve your boyfriend - it all comes down to that moment when you pass the plate and fork, zoom in on his face and watch the grin that follows as he takes the first bite, a sure sign of bliss.

While that might be a more idyllic moment in baking - because there are definitely times when the bread doesn't rise, the cake doesn't cook all the way through and the cookies come out black as tar - the reason why we bake is to give, to use our talents in ways that are tangible, comforting and satisfying.

In Bill Buford's book Heat: An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany, (title says it all) he mentions a pastry chef named Gina who would walk around the kitchen asking the staff to try her creations, constantly asking if they liked it, if the cookies have too many almonds, not enough almonds? He began to notice the satisfaction Gina received when she watched someone eat her food. In her mind, she was giving people something that just might have brought an extra bit of joy to their day. And that's important. Baking made Gina feel needed, and for all those who enjoyed her pastries, her offerings were welcomed.

Whether it's baking a cake for your co-worker's birthday, bringing in a tray of homemade granola bars to your group meeting, or making apple dumplings for your roommate one evening, (thanks Amy!) bake to give. Try to keep in mind that what you're baking is more than a sweet or savory treat; it's something that shows your love and care for those you offer it to. And on the receiving end, the next time someone asks you to try their baked goods, do it. Let them know that their gifts are appreciated.

Shape matters

Photo Credit: localism.com

While some may get a rouse out of the saying, "size matters," I'd like to argue that it's shape that matters most. Maybe I should provide some context so you don't think I'm eluding to childish innuendos.

A conversation this weekend had me thinking about the effectiveness of the table in fostering an environment for dinnertimes where we engage in worldly discussions - what on earth was Berlusconi doing while he was in power, whether or not you agree with your city's never-ending road construction and about the bullying your child witnessed in the school cafeteria. The table itself holds a lot of potential, which can be enhanced or diminished by one key factor... shape.

Think about this: square and rectangular tables have corners. They cut people off. It's hard to pull up an extra chair without being left outside the set perimeter. In the back left corner, aunt Suzy and cousin Jimmy are talking about the newest Adam Sandler movie; on the right side, Tim and Larry are placing bets on how long the NBA lockout will last; Dad, at the head, stares bewildered at the number of conversations spurting all around him, yet he can't connect with any group because he's isolated at his end of the table!

Now switch to this concept: round tables have no nooks or crannies in which to hide. They invite people in. Want to pull up a seat? You're more than welcome. We're glad to sacrifice a little elbow room to let you enter the conversation. The long, curvaceous circumference beckons aunt Suzy, cousin Jimmy, Tim and Larry to answer Dad's question about Grandma's depression. No one is isolated. You can see everyone's face - so you better be looking your best. Just kidding. At round tables, I envision more acceptance rather than judgment. Why? I'm not sure - maybe it's just because round tables seem to want you there.

Now, I grew up with a rectangular table and I remember dinners very fondly. Yet, there were usually three of us, and then two. The conversation was all in that little bubble. All of our faces were exposed and in a way, we had a small enough group that it operated like that round table I'm advocating for.

In the case of bigger families, dinner parties, or groups with odd numbers, I think round is the way to go. When it comes to dinnertime, I'm serious about conversation. Someday, I'll have the choice between buying a round table or a rectangular table for my future home and I can guarantee you that I'll be choosing the circle. From the wise words of a childhood song, "A circle is round. It has no end." I choose the option of wanting my dinnertime to be full of "endless possibility."

The next time you sit around a table, see what you notice about the interactions. Does shape really matter? You be the judge.

In Favor of Free and Reduced

Free and Reduced Lunch. You've probably heard the term before. Thinking back to lunchtime in grade school, you waited - probably not patiently - for your tray filled with some type of reconstituted, re-hydrated, reheated foods that would satisfy your groaning stomach until the hunger pangs hit again after your last class.

And while it may have been a long time since you last had a school lunch, were you ever aware that your fellow classmates might have been part of the free and reduced lunch program? While it may be an unpleasant thought - a family who cannot afford to pay for their child's lunch at school - it's a reality that many American families face.

In Monroe County, where I attend school at Indiana University, the Department of Education's data from 2001 shows that nearly 26 percent of their elementary through high school population received a free or reduced lunch. And I can assure you that this number has only grown as more families struggle with the difficult economic times we're facing.

With all of the school programs that seem to be getting cut right and left, it is a blessing that we continue to have free and reduced lunch programs.

Lunch programs are extremely beneficial to schools. Eating a healthy lunch - coupled with a nutritious breakfast and snacks - helps students to stay focused in class and turn their attention towards learning rather than feeling fatigue caused by a lack of eating healthy foods.

And while the aforementioned benefits fulfill the base of one's personal needs, being able to eat lunch at school typically involves sitting around a cafeteria table where students talk, laugh and share stories. Lunchtime is when they can vent, express their emotions and work through problems. It's when they can be silly, talk about whatever they want and just be kids!

Thank goodness for free and reduced lunch programs. As they help kids learn the values of community mealtime, it is hope that they will carry this practice into their future - better understanding the magic that occurs when we eat together around the table.

Chicken Fried

The image of a greasy Colonel Sanders bucket has become somewhat synonymous with fried chicken. My Mom never brought home a 12-piece meal from the Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-through, but I grew up dreaming about down-home southern picnics where children and parents sprawled around a checkered blanket, biting mouthfuls of juicy white meat right off the bone, golden flecks of crispy skin collecting on their cheeks as they polished off the last wings and thighs.

I know it must seem like an odd fascination, but the idea of eating fried chicken seemed to embody the essence of a true family affair - the ones when your aunts, uncles and second cousins twice removed would all come out for a Sunday evening supper, catching up on each other's lives around tables covered with plates of fried chicken.

My parents weren't overly obsessed with eating healthfully, but friend chicken was never on the radar when thinking of a nutritious dinner option. But while it might not be "healthy," I couldn't help but wonder if this southern dish was more than just a comforting, calorie filled concoction. If there were thousands of families happily laughing over buckets of friend chicken, maybe it was a viable option for an "emotionally healthy" meal.

After years of this curiosity just sitting under the surface, my roommate and I finally decided to test our age old question and see for ourselves if fried chicken is all that it's cracked up to be.

Our homemade version didn't look like the breaded chicken pieces you see in the KFC commercials, but, our panko covered chicken breasts, pan fried in olive oil, seemed like a honest modern-attempt by two 21-year-olds.

Slightly anxious about our new creation, we sliced into the tender breasts and let our taste buds read the final verdict. Surely enough, the hot, salty juices sang to our heartstrings. Before long, we were telling stories and cracking jokes between bites of friend chicken. We weren't concerned about calories and the words "fat" or "sodium" never breached our conversation.

So my fried chicken curiosity wasn't all nonsense. Making and eating our own version of fried chicken was a true bonding experience. We ventured into a the unknown world of fried chicken and came out with our stomachs satisfied and spirits lifted.

It turns out that a little bit of chicken fried can mean a whole lot of joy around the family table.

The JOY of Cooking

You've just walked in the front door, your bag of books or briefcase weighing down your shoulder and your shirt half tucked into your slacks, which seem to have permanent wrinkles after all the time you've spent sitting in front of the computer. You walk into the kitchen and look from your refrigerator to your pantry to your stove. It's 7 p.m. and the last thing you want to do right now is prepare a home-cooked meal.

So, where did the JOY of cooking go? Apparently it expired after we started taking on so many activities that making a meal became more of a burden than a time that brings happiness to our daily lives.

But if you have cookbooks, I'm sure you have the Joy of Cooking. If you don't, then you should probably get a copy. The all-purpose cookbook, which contains a recipe for every type of dish you can imagine, has sold over 18 million copies since Irma Rombauer first published it in 1931. A year after her husband's suicide, Rombauer created the cookbook as a reminder of the activity that brought true joy to her life. In coping with her emotions, cooking provided a vehicle to show what happiness she could provide in the lives of her friends and family, as well as her own.

Today, cooking is something that most people have put on the back burner. (Pun intended) Opening up a cookbook has seems to inspire pressure to create some elaborate dish that will never live up to the perfection we desire. You know you've felt this way before, too. The cake has to look exactly like the picture. If the pork chop isn't perfectly tender, why even bother serving it? What if everyone hates my soufflé that I've spent hours making?

With our laundry list of daily activities, the idea of cooking and subjecting ourselves to "criticism" or "judgment," turns into an immediate turn off.

But what if we re-envisioned our image of cooking? What if, instead of seeing it as a canvas that exposes the bumps and blemishes of our culinary abilities, we saw it as a medium for cultivating an appreciation for new tastes and flavors? A way to treat ourselves and others to something that says "I deserve to eat well!"? A form of expression that shows creativity and a sense of curiosity?

Rombauer didn't title her book the Joy of Cooking for nothing. She knew the awesome power that cooking holds and wanted to help bring that gift into kitchens all around the world.

How are you bringing JOY into your life? Maybe today it will start with cooking.

Generous Portions

When we arrived, they were all there, awaiting patiently for their guests who didn't known them from atom. One had wispy white hair and wore a slightly stained eggshell-colored apron. She had thin wired-rimmed glasses that moved up and down when she greeted us. The others were busy removing foil from disposable baking tins and bringing out pitchers of lemonade and iced tea.

"Welcome," the wispy-haired woman said. "Is everyone else on their way? We'd love for you to all be together."

While we were the first ones to arrive, we were met with many sweet and savory smells that reminded me of visiting my Nana at her home in Arkansas when I was young. At the back of the sanctuary, three dining room sized tables were covered with casserole dishes filled with everyone's favorite comfort foods: brown sugar baked beans, corn spoon bread and crispy fried chicken. The last table was checkered with individual plates topped with slices of cherry pie, chocolate cake and frozen fruit salad.

The older women silently left us to gaze over the feast they had probably spent hours perparing. Maybe these dishes were part of their families' traditional Sunday dinners. Maybe they were the foods their sons always asked for when they had tummy aches. Whether or not these dishes were designated "healing foods," I knew that they would provide the magic that we were in need of, bringing a group of people together who had just lost someone who would have been the first guy in line, grabbing an extra plate of dessert.

On Saturday, myself, along with 30 others, gathered to honor the life of Tom Taubensee - my outdoorsy, four-wheeler driving, basketball loving Hoosier pal who left us far too soon.

After his memorial service, a group of wonderfully kind women from Sherwood Oaks Church - who didn't have any connection to the Taubensee family - prepared us an amazing lunch. Instead of us scatting in different directions and leaving with sadness in our hearts, they provided us with a way to connect after his service. Because of their kindness, we were able to celebrate his life with a little feast that I know he would have loved.

These women certainly didn't have any obligation to create this luncheon gathering. They could have been making these foods for their own families ... but they made it especially for us, and I don't think Saturday would have been nearly as special had they not blessed us with their soul food fixings.

I've learned that you should never underestimate the power of a homemade meal. After tasting these ladies' home cooking, I know that they didn't and doubt they ever will.