Dinner Party Dreams Locked in a China Cabinet

0

Eight years ago, I thought my dinner party dreams were coming true.

High on my recent engagement, I waltzed into the Macy’s department I had only passed wistfully until that moment: the wedding registry, nestled among glistening glass and delicate china.

Choosing a china pattern felt like a rite of passage.

After much deliberation (as my soon-to-be-husband became witness to my maximizing tendencies), we selected a simple silver and white “ballet ribbon” pattern. I got a little giddy each time a new piece would arrive on our doorstep before the wedding.

I grew up admiring my mom’s china cabinet, a precious time capsule full of hourglass vases, elegantly etched crystal, and glossy dinnerware. Like many a good mom, she graciously displayed pottery crafted in middle school art class among the heirlooms. The cabinets brimmed with family history, memories and meaning.

When the silver-rimmed dishes were carefully pulled out of the cabinet, I knew a mouthwatering meal was on the menu. I can smell the rich gravy, feel the crisp cream tablecloths, and picture the Sunday-best attire around the table.

In pursuit of childhood dreams, we bought a house with an ample dining room, found a beautiful Amish-crafted dining set, and arranged the china in the cabinet.

I had visions of hosting bridal showers, cocktail parties, and multi-course meals that used all components of a place setting. Most importantly, friends would gather at my home for events made extra special by elevated dinnerware.

Somehow, as expectations vs. realities often do, the dinner party dreams went by the wayside.

The long wooden table is covered with a protective pad and serves as a catch-all for kid crafts and 1000-piece puzzles. The carefully curated cabinet’s formerly sparkling contents are now muted by a thin layer of dust.

Our gatherings are anything but china-worthy. We host potlucks with paper plates, play dates with Keurig coffee, and wine nights with unbreakable tumblers on the patio. Our hospitality is casual and low pressure, accessible and comfortable.

Maybe kids changed the equation, with breakable items tucked away and parents tagging in and out of meals to chase roaming toddlers. The pandemic surely had an impact, when we yearned for in-person community in the simplest, most casual way possible.

Maybe we’re leaning toward dressing “as you are” over dress codes. Maybe I’m too tired to fathom washing the “delicates” by hand.

On top of it all, we may be behind the trend.

Millennials are leading a generational shift away from heirlooms, valuing experiences over “stuff.” As a millennial cusper with boomer parents, I feel the tug from both generations.

My old-soul heart doesn’t want the art of entertaining to be a lost one. I enjoy an evening in dressier clothes and table settings to make a moment celebratory. I value belongings that spark warm memories of people, places and experiences.

And yet, I want to welcome people casually into our home and embrace a lived-in abode over a domestic museum.

Maybe it isn’t an either/or equation. We can preserve traditions while also prioritizing people over presentation.

Perhaps I’ll stop waiting for a special occasion, dust off a couple place settings (the kids can still use their plastic… let’s not get carried away), and break open the aging wine, while we’re at it. Even if it’s for pizza, and even if it’s a Tuesday.

My dinner party dreams may look a little different, but they can still come true, as long as there are people around the table to make moments worth remembering.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here