A Hannahchan first
At the end of the party, all the food was gone.
Every last triangle of waffle, every sugared strawberry, every link of sausage, every piece of the two pounds of bacon I cooked. Every bagel, every shred of the whole side of Alaskan smoked salmon I'd brought back with me (which had been the original impetus for having a brunch, and which I was pleased to see people loved as much as I do), every last smear of cream cheese, every sliver of Vidalia onion, every slice of heirloom tomato, every wafer of Eastern Shore cucumber. Every square of fried potato, every drop of orange juice, every last swig of champagne.
All that was left, in the end, were two lone strawberries out of the pint of fresh, unsugared ones I'd set out, and two slices of cherry pie that friends had brought. I ate one slice for dinner and had the other for breakfast.
Generally, people eat and (I like to think) eat well at my parties, and usually, there isn't much in the way of leftovers at the end of them. But this is the first time everything got eaten.
My friend Beth said, "I can't believe this is what you do to relax. Making brunch for an entire house full of people? That's my idea of hell." But the truth was, I needed this so much after the stressful week I'd had. I went to bed exhausted but high, as if after a really good workout--but a workout that made me feel loved and happy and blessed with really wonderful friends. Today and tomorrow are going to be sheer hell at work, and I suppose I really would have been better off spending yesterday in the office, work-wise. But psychologically, it was the best therapy I could have gotten, and I don't regret a single morsel of it.
Every last triangle of waffle, every sugared strawberry, every link of sausage, every piece of the two pounds of bacon I cooked. Every bagel, every shred of the whole side of Alaskan smoked salmon I'd brought back with me (which had been the original impetus for having a brunch, and which I was pleased to see people loved as much as I do), every last smear of cream cheese, every sliver of Vidalia onion, every slice of heirloom tomato, every wafer of Eastern Shore cucumber. Every square of fried potato, every drop of orange juice, every last swig of champagne.
All that was left, in the end, were two lone strawberries out of the pint of fresh, unsugared ones I'd set out, and two slices of cherry pie that friends had brought. I ate one slice for dinner and had the other for breakfast.
Generally, people eat and (I like to think) eat well at my parties, and usually, there isn't much in the way of leftovers at the end of them. But this is the first time everything got eaten.
My friend Beth said, "I can't believe this is what you do to relax. Making brunch for an entire house full of people? That's my idea of hell." But the truth was, I needed this so much after the stressful week I'd had. I went to bed exhausted but high, as if after a really good workout--but a workout that made me feel loved and happy and blessed with really wonderful friends. Today and tomorrow are going to be sheer hell at work, and I suppose I really would have been better off spending yesterday in the office, work-wise. But psychologically, it was the best therapy I could have gotten, and I don't regret a single morsel of it.