Whatever happened to dinner parties?

I love to cook.  More than that, I love to eat.  I am not sure how much of this is because I was a picky eater as a child (still am, so some degree) and how much is in spite of this fact.  I watch the Food Network when there is nothing else on TV, I have in fact declared it my porn.  And I never need to worry about what's on when my daughter is around.  No complicated plots for her to question, no concern about sex or violence or subject matter I am not yet prepared to discuss with a 10 year old.

I'm not sure when exactly I started cooking; but I know by my late teens I was already collecting recipes and wanting to try new dishes.  My earliest marital battles were about my cooking versus his mother's.  (I believe my response was, in the end, "If you like HER cooking so d*** much, eat there.  I have better things to do.")  I admit there were things she made I could not replicate, and things I would not want to.  There are things my grandmother cooked I cannot get to taste the same either.  And despite recipes and phone calls and taste tests there are things only my mom can make too.

When I was a little girl, throughout my growing up years in fact, my parents had friends over for dinner, and these meals were reciprocated.  It was a regular, usually Sunday, occurrence.  Food was a part of every social gathering.  As a newly-wed I assumed this would be the norm in my house too.  And it was.  We invited friends to share a meal, asked us to join them.  And Sundays after church if no invitation was arranged we gathered at a restaurant, lingering over coffee as the afternoon wore on.  Food and company went hand in hand.
I remember when the church group we belonged to then finally got its own building instead of a rented site.  Something happened to the camaraderie on the worship team, and among the Sunday School teachers (both groups we were intimately involved with).  I noticed it most among the musicians.  My husband was a worship leader, I went along to practices to get out of the house and to indulge in a little socialization.  The team had become disjointed, fractured.  After mid-week practice everyone just packed up and went home, where before we had met at someone's home and there was coffee poured and snacks offered.  People would linger and visit.
I started making a plate of cookies or muffins and brewing coffee in the back of the church during practice.  The musicians began to stay, and to relax and share.  The difference on Sunday morning was unmistakable.
But that is a digression.  After my husband and I divorced I found my social life inevitably altered.  The dinner invitations vanished.  I understood.  I was angry and bitter, and our friends couldn't manage the divided loyalties.  Some chose him, some chose me, most chose neither.  And I couldn't afford, financially or emotionally to host my own dinners.  But I missed them terribly.  For a while I would join a group of other singles for lunch after church, but it lacked the easy camaraderie I longed for.  When I met my second husband I thought, perhaps, I could reclaim this part of my life.  It was not to be.  He was suspicious of every invitation, sure that there was some ulterior motive behind the request, and I was too embarrassed to reciprocate.  (Our house was small, our bank account smaller, and he was not comfortable playing host)  Vanity, I know, but if I couldn't do it the way I always had...
I am alone again.  I still don't host the lavish dinner parties I once did.  I still want to.  Now and then I have friends over, sometimes they ask me to dinner.  Once a month I go out for supper with a group of girlfriends.  But as I listen to people talk I don't think my social status is the issue.  I don't think people have dinners like we used to.  We're all so busy, barely having time to feed our own families before rushing off to the next activity.
This is a long road from where my thoughts on this started.  Perhaps tomorrow I will talk about that-about food sensitivities, allergies and plain old fear.  Every time I open up my Facebook page there are half a dozen more articles about "eat this" and "don't eat that" and all the rest.  What exactly would one feed friends now, when it seems nothing is edible any more?

I still think food greases the social wheels.  It evokes memories and storytelling.  It is a way of sharing love and affection.  When I visit my boyfriend I spend a good deal of time in the kitchen so I can leave him with a stock of meals.  He says I'm spoiling him as he thanks me.  It is my way of leaving him with a hug, a reminder of my affection and love for him.   I admit there is a good deal of ego in my culinary activities.  But I find it a good creative outlet too, and a quiet way of saying "I love you and I appreciate what you do."  Happy eating