Apology-Free Hospitality

In a vintage cookbook I own (The Basic Cookbook, by Marjorie Haseltine), there is a section on hospitality, the gentle art of inviting people into your home to share a meal with you in order to develop closer relationships and even a sense of community.

The authors of my cookbook explain that the goal of having guests for dinner is not to impress them or overwork the hosts. You want to make them comfortable, and guests do not feel comfortable if they feel they are a burden. 'Make them happy,' say our authors, 'by permitting them to look out for themselves to a certain extent, perhaps by helping themselves to bread, butter, and water.'

This is also the reason the hostess should not spend time apologizing for the size of her house, the mess in the living room, the quality of the peas, the decorations in the dining room, or the food she serves. I do it, too, and I know why I do it. I presume you are the same. I want people to know that I know that the peas are not the best, that there are tidier living rooms- I want people to know that I do know what 'tidy' looks like, even if I don't do it very well. But this is merely pride and it ought to be squelched. When you go to somebody's house and they begin apologizing for everything, you are made to feel like you are a burden to the hostess, that she would be much happier without you there to witness her discomfort, and you are compelled to consequently reassure her. This is not comfortable, so we ought not to do it with our own guests.

The only apologies to be made are the usual sort, should you step on your guest's toe, or dump a drink in a guest's lap. Apologizing for your house and your food is not putting the guest first, even if your fare is very simple, and simple food is not to be under-rated.

Saint Bridget of Ireland was a Catholic Saint known for her giving and her ability in coaxing others to give. So persuasive was she that according to legend she could wheedle even nature herself into giving beyond her ordinary means.

"For the story goes that once when she and her community had spent a hard long day feeding the poor- when they had disposed of every loaf of bread, every egg from their hens, every pear from their trees- word came that the Seven Bishops of Cabinteely were on their way to visit her and would expect hospitality. The nuns were atwitter. What would their reverences think of a convent so stripped of food for the episcopal table? Bridget didn't turn a hair, "Go out and ask the hens kindly to lay more eggs," she told one sister. "Speak to the trees- see what they have left in the way of fruit," she advised another. "Talk gently to the cows and beg them for a little milk."
She herself went into the kitchen, poked the fire, and opened the oven, and there on the hearth sat a number of beautifully baked loaves, hot and crusty. The hens cackled and gave eggs. The cows let down milk. The trees shook their branches and apples and pears fell into the nuns' aprons. And the seven bishops that evening vowed they had never in their lives sat down to a handsomer feast."

from the book Saint-Watching, by Phyllis McGinley

Fresh homebaked bread, eggs, milk, and fruit can make a feast. Have you the courage to serve so simple yet so celebratory a feast to your honored guests? Too many of us think that we cannot practice hospitality, and so it is a sadly dying custom. I think one reason is because we have redefined hospitality to mean formal entertaining, and there is a huge difference between hospitality and entertaining.

If, like Bridget, bread, milk, eggs and fruit is what you have, serve it with no apologies. Jesus is known for serving his guests nothing fancier than fish roasted over coals, sometimes with bread, and the patriarch Abraham served only bread and wine to Melchizedek.

So have people into your home. Open your lives to one another just a little, and with no apologies. Make a stand to restore the dying art of hospitality. In fact, if you only have bread and tea, make cinnamon toast and serve it with a smile and good conversation.