Saturday, August 28, 2010
Help for Mel: calling all cooks for non-oven/stove recipes
Dear Readers,
My sister Mel is embarking on a 3 month kitchen renovation. She will not have use of a stove or oven but will have a toaster over, microwave, Crockpot, outdoor grill, and maybe a Foreman grill or Panini machine.
Let's extend our hospitality to her and her family by sending stove/ovenless recipes.
Enjoy,
HospitalityMorality
I'll start us out...
Chicken Tostadas adapted from Marcela Valladolid (FoodTV) 4 servings
• 8 tostadas (fried in oil or toasted in a toaster oven)
• 1 cup refried beans, warmed (in microwave) (You could use soft beans, mashed to avoid fat of refried.)
• 4 cups cooked chicken, shredded (Buy rotisserie.)
• 2 cups finely shredded lettuce
• 1/2 medium red onion, thinly sliced into rings
• 8 radishes, thinly sliced
• 1 cup crumbled queso fresco or mild feta cheese (or Monterey Jack)
• Mexican sour cream or regular sour cream, for drizzling
• salsa
*1/2 cup chopped olives
*1 chopped tomato
*avocado slices
* optional
Spread the tostadas with the refried beans. Top with the chicken, lettuce, onion rings, radishes, and cheese. Drizzle with sour cream, top with a dollop of salsa, and serve.
Thank you, Chris, for sending this B B Q BEEF recipe!
1 (15 OZ) CAN TOMATO SAUCE 1/4 tsp PEPPER
1 CUP CHOPPED ONION FEW DROPS HOT PEPPER SAUCE
1/4 CUP CHOPPED GREEN PEPPER 2 1/2 LBS BONELESS SHOULDER
2 Tbs PACKED BROWN SUGAR ROAST -OR- CHUCK ROAST -OR-
2 Tbs WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE BRISKET (Most Lean)
2 tsp DRY MUSTARD GARLIC POWDER
1 1/2 tsp SALT ( I use 1 tsp) 2 Tbs FLOUR
TRIM EXCESS FAT FROM ROAST. CUT MEAT TO FIT COOKER. COMBINE TOMATO SAUCE, ONION, GREEN PEPPER, BROWN SUGAR, WORCESTERSHIRE SAUCE, MUSTARD, SALT, PEPPER, GARLIC POWDER & HOT PEPPER SAUCE. POUR OVER MEAT IN COOKER. COVER & COOK ON LOW 10-12 HRS OR UNTIL MEAT IS VERY TENDER. LIFT MEAT FROM COOKER. COOL LIGHTLY & SLICE ACROSS GRAIN. TURN COOKER ON HIGH. SKIM OFF FAT IN COOKER, WHEN MIXTURE BUBBLES, STIR IN FLOUR BLENDED WITH 1/4 CUP WATER. RETURN MEAT TO COOKER & HEAT, COVERED, 15 MINS. SERVE ON SPLIT BUNS.
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Kids Are All Right
Cholodenko, Lisa, Dir. The Kids Are All Right. Mandalay Vision, 2010.
Spoiler alert…plot details toward the end of the film are disclosed in this blog.
After a lesbian married couple discovers that their 2 teenage kids have secretly invited their sperm donor (same guy) into their family’s life, they struggle to embrace his arrival into their lives. Actually, only one mother struggles; the other has an affair with Donor Dad. If this isn’t a hospitality concern, what is?
The Kids Are All Right is not a feel-good movie, as the trailer and the movie’s opening scenes suggest. Director Lisa Cholodenko leads us on with a romantic look at lesbian love—family style. As the movie unfolds, however, her romantic look becomes a realistic gaze at deception, excess, power, insecurity, unforgiveness, disloyalty, dependence, ingratitude--and eventually, the reverse of all those human foibles. So much of what goes wrong for this family and this guy—and it’s a long list—can be attributed to breaches of hospitality. Admittedly, that HM perspective oversimplifies their troubles; nonetheless, hospitality violations indicate that their lives are seriously botched and bungled.
Let’s start with the obvious violations. Before the sex, Paul (DD) invites Jules (the free-spirited composting mom) into his house for her first landscaping business job. Ironically, the invitation seems to be less in his backyard and more into his house. Paul, who is sexing another woman from his restaurant, falls in love with Mother Jules, but she’s just in it for the sex. (Of course, she’s desperately longing for recognition and only using sex to “live the examined life.” But from my theater chair, it pretty much looks like “just sex.”) Clearly, Jules violates hospitality morality because she has abused his invitation to landscape his yard and enter his home. Paul, himself, breaches hospitality codes. He becomes enamored with the kids, especially, the daughter, and gives her a ride home on his motorcycle although he knows that it’s Mother Nic’s hardcore prohibition. He breaches the mothers’ hospitality of allowing him into their family by not just disregarding one of their rules but also, confronting her with it—pulling up at their home. We know that we should not side with his maverick actions because he defends himself as a good driver although he has previously acknowledged that he beats traffic jams by weaving in and out of traffic. (If you think that motorcycle safety depends on the motorcyclists, read The Invisible Gorilla). Paul further breaches hospitality codes when, after meeting Laser’s friend for one skateboard stunt, Paul casually condemns the friend’s integrity to his “son.” This is a hospitality issue because Laser has invited Paul to meet his friend. Paul invites Joni into his garden and then, encourages her to defy her mother although what he knows about parenting you could put into a pea pod. The list goes on…Jules fires the worker because she doesn’t like the look on his face. This is a hospitality violation because she has invited/hired him. Nic berates their friends at a restaurant after guzzling too much wine. This is a hospitality violation because they breach host-guest codes for a meal. Speaking of meals, many go awry. Hospitality at the table suffers as the movie progresses. No petit Shiraz is going to fix these dinners.
So how does all this become resolved? Well, it doesn't for Paul. But HM is not concerned with him and, ultimately, neither is the movie. This family cannot afford to extend Paul any more hospitality, for his influence is destructive. He undermines marital fidelity and parental authority. Ironically, the end to the hospitality breaches occurs when each family member rejects Paul and refuses to offer him any future hope for returning as a guest. They are not only realistic in their rejection, they are right. HM applauds their courage to bar the door against this home wrecker. We know this from the Odyssey. Because the plundering suitors have violated zenois codes, Odysseus must reject them and reinstall stability to his oikos. Thus, to protect your marriage and family from intruders is to maintain supreme hospitality codes.
I’d like to stop here and ask a question. Are the hospitality breaches the cause of the family’s problems or the result of them? I’d like to say that they’re the cause and wave my Hospitality Power banner, suggesting, as I’ve done in the past that if we all—as guests and hosts—treated each other well, we’d avoid all the world’s problems except for natural disasters and nasty diseases. I believe that. But, honestly, the movie doesn’t. The movie suggests that an imbalance of power is the core of the problem. Feeling this imbalance, people are going to act “grubby” to each other, as Jules admits in her final speech. HM translates “grubby” as “inhospitable.” When people don’t feel appreciated and don’t self-actualize, they can’t help but fail as guests and hosts. It seems, Cholodenko instructs us, that we must first self-actualize before we can truly become good hosts and good guests.
After years of being nagged and threatened to floss my teeth, I was finally inspired (I'm talking every night, now) when my dental hygienist scolded: "Everybody wants a quick fix. But there's no quick fix. You just have to do the work." Suddenly, I heard my father and my mother. And I heard myself, admonishing any CliffsNotes reading student to just read the book. Hospitality is like flossing. You have to do the work to become a good host and guest. The Kids Are All Right illustrates that we can't be hospitable until we take care of ourselves and our relationships. Only then--fulfilling the work of self-actualizing--can we strive toward hospitality morality.
BTW, Jules’s “grubby” speech alone is worth the admission price.
Freedom to Marry: http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays: http://community.pflag.org/Page.aspx?pid=194&srcid=-2
Spoiler alert…plot details toward the end of the film are disclosed in this blog.
After a lesbian married couple discovers that their 2 teenage kids have secretly invited their sperm donor (same guy) into their family’s life, they struggle to embrace his arrival into their lives. Actually, only one mother struggles; the other has an affair with Donor Dad. If this isn’t a hospitality concern, what is?
The Kids Are All Right is not a feel-good movie, as the trailer and the movie’s opening scenes suggest. Director Lisa Cholodenko leads us on with a romantic look at lesbian love—family style. As the movie unfolds, however, her romantic look becomes a realistic gaze at deception, excess, power, insecurity, unforgiveness, disloyalty, dependence, ingratitude--and eventually, the reverse of all those human foibles. So much of what goes wrong for this family and this guy—and it’s a long list—can be attributed to breaches of hospitality. Admittedly, that HM perspective oversimplifies their troubles; nonetheless, hospitality violations indicate that their lives are seriously botched and bungled.
Let’s start with the obvious violations. Before the sex, Paul (DD) invites Jules (the free-spirited composting mom) into his house for her first landscaping business job. Ironically, the invitation seems to be less in his backyard and more into his house. Paul, who is sexing another woman from his restaurant, falls in love with Mother Jules, but she’s just in it for the sex. (Of course, she’s desperately longing for recognition and only using sex to “live the examined life.” But from my theater chair, it pretty much looks like “just sex.”) Clearly, Jules violates hospitality morality because she has abused his invitation to landscape his yard and enter his home. Paul, himself, breaches hospitality codes. He becomes enamored with the kids, especially, the daughter, and gives her a ride home on his motorcycle although he knows that it’s Mother Nic’s hardcore prohibition. He breaches the mothers’ hospitality of allowing him into their family by not just disregarding one of their rules but also, confronting her with it—pulling up at their home. We know that we should not side with his maverick actions because he defends himself as a good driver although he has previously acknowledged that he beats traffic jams by weaving in and out of traffic. (If you think that motorcycle safety depends on the motorcyclists, read The Invisible Gorilla). Paul further breaches hospitality codes when, after meeting Laser’s friend for one skateboard stunt, Paul casually condemns the friend’s integrity to his “son.” This is a hospitality issue because Laser has invited Paul to meet his friend. Paul invites Joni into his garden and then, encourages her to defy her mother although what he knows about parenting you could put into a pea pod. The list goes on…Jules fires the worker because she doesn’t like the look on his face. This is a hospitality violation because she has invited/hired him. Nic berates their friends at a restaurant after guzzling too much wine. This is a hospitality violation because they breach host-guest codes for a meal. Speaking of meals, many go awry. Hospitality at the table suffers as the movie progresses. No petit Shiraz is going to fix these dinners.
So how does all this become resolved? Well, it doesn't for Paul. But HM is not concerned with him and, ultimately, neither is the movie. This family cannot afford to extend Paul any more hospitality, for his influence is destructive. He undermines marital fidelity and parental authority. Ironically, the end to the hospitality breaches occurs when each family member rejects Paul and refuses to offer him any future hope for returning as a guest. They are not only realistic in their rejection, they are right. HM applauds their courage to bar the door against this home wrecker. We know this from the Odyssey. Because the plundering suitors have violated zenois codes, Odysseus must reject them and reinstall stability to his oikos. Thus, to protect your marriage and family from intruders is to maintain supreme hospitality codes.
I’d like to stop here and ask a question. Are the hospitality breaches the cause of the family’s problems or the result of them? I’d like to say that they’re the cause and wave my Hospitality Power banner, suggesting, as I’ve done in the past that if we all—as guests and hosts—treated each other well, we’d avoid all the world’s problems except for natural disasters and nasty diseases. I believe that. But, honestly, the movie doesn’t. The movie suggests that an imbalance of power is the core of the problem. Feeling this imbalance, people are going to act “grubby” to each other, as Jules admits in her final speech. HM translates “grubby” as “inhospitable.” When people don’t feel appreciated and don’t self-actualize, they can’t help but fail as guests and hosts. It seems, Cholodenko instructs us, that we must first self-actualize before we can truly become good hosts and good guests.
After years of being nagged and threatened to floss my teeth, I was finally inspired (I'm talking every night, now) when my dental hygienist scolded: "Everybody wants a quick fix. But there's no quick fix. You just have to do the work." Suddenly, I heard my father and my mother. And I heard myself, admonishing any CliffsNotes reading student to just read the book. Hospitality is like flossing. You have to do the work to become a good host and guest. The Kids Are All Right illustrates that we can't be hospitable until we take care of ourselves and our relationships. Only then--fulfilling the work of self-actualizing--can we strive toward hospitality morality.
BTW, Jules’s “grubby” speech alone is worth the admission price.
Freedom to Marry: http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays: http://community.pflag.org/Page.aspx?pid=194&srcid=-2
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Blind Side's Vision of Hospitality.
Over and over, Hospitality Morality has struggled with two hospitality philosophies: risk vs. reciprocity. Should the host--as the early Christians, ancient Greeks, medieval Europeans, and a host of modern philosophers contend--extend hospitality at potentially great risk and without return? Or should the host—as contemporary etiquette books, the travel industry, and Hollywood movies argue—maintain a modicum of control and expect gratitude?
Here’s a quick montage of scenes from the opening of The Blind Side that present the hospitality risk vs. reciprocity dilemma:
• The movie begins with Lawrence Taylor breaking Joe Theisman’s leg. We see this 3 times. Strictly speaking, maiming, disfiguring, and killing an opponent is a breach of sports hospitality. Even for pugilists.
• Because of that injury, the second highest paid football player became the offensive left tackle, who is programmed to protect the quarterback. In case you miss that hospitality is tied to capital, the voiceover metaphorizes: as every housewife knows, the first check pays the mortgage and the second check pays the insurance. To protect, according to this scenario, is to protect against financial ruin, rather than to protect one’s integrity, for example.
• The third scene features Michael Oher (whom we’re meeting for the first time) being ushered into a conference room by a woman in business attire who emphatically excludes another woman who looks like she owns stock in Stein Mart. That woman and Michael are decidedly unhappy. No hospitality there. Further, when Michael is seated, it looks as if his legs won’t fit under the table. Thus, emotionally and physically, he has not been welcomed into an investigation that purports to protect his desires.
• Two Years Earlier: A beat-up car drives through a run-down neighborhood amidst litter, a collapsed home, and a (homeless ?) man pushing a shopping cart down the street. This is about as far from the Norman Rockwell painting displayed later in the movie as you can get.
• Next, we see a mechanic beg a coach to influence the administrators of a private Christian school to accept his nephew and a boy named “Big Mike,” whom we recognize from the conference scene. Why would the coach stick his neck out for this man and these kids he doesn’t know? Well, explains, the mechanic, there’s money to be made and there’s a football program to benefit. No pretense of hospitality.
Let me speed things up here because I’m not at the end of my first of nine pages of handwritten notes. And my one or two readers are not going to hang in much longer for me to make a point of all this.
When you afford someone else—the Other or others—hospitality, you take a risk. How big your willingness to take that risk depends on your philosophy of hospitality. The risks you're willing and unwilling to take affect every relationship between hosts and guests.
The Christian school’s football coach (as host) invites Michael (as guest) to join the team. Almost immediately, the coach laments the risk that he took badgering the administrators to accept Michael after it appears that Michael won’t hurt anyone on the field. Mrs. Tuohy excoriates the coach that he needs to get to know his players. According to Mrs. Tuohy, a coach/host can prevent a failed relationship with is player/guest if the coach/host would only acquire the necessary information, which in this case, is Michael’s score at the 98th percentile for protectiveness. While at first this scene suggests that getting to know your players/guests will guarantee success, upon reflection, this constitutes a “just the facts” approach to relationships and no face-to-face encounters that Martin Buber advocates.
Let’s pause to consider this interesting aspect of the risk side of the dilemma. At what point should you try to see the horizons (Gadamer) or search another's face (Buber)? At what point do you accept someone else’s background, vision, and gaze? Before or after the invitation to host? If before, risk is minimized. If after, risk is maximized. If you're not convinced, I recommend rereading the Odyssey, Huckleberry Finn, Medea, and The Metamorphoses. HM does, however, grant that not everyone is cut out to be Philemon or Baucis. But the point here is that not everyone aspires to be so trusting.
Several people host Michael, in addition to the NCAA investigator and high school football coach.
The school selection team members know little about him because his records are so incomplete; they accept/host him because they want to do “the right thing.” Their risk is huge.
The mechanic and his wife have taken in Michael on a temporary basis. It appears that they know Michael, so their risk seems minimal. However, the wife challenges the husband’s decision to host Michael rather than spend time with her. Spilling over a couch haphazardly made for his sleeping, “Big Mike” hears them arguing about dumping him at a shelter the next day. They are not willing to risk disrupting their home. Calling him “Big Mike,” we later discover, is the movie’s clue that they don’t really know Michael.
The teachers also don’t know Michael. Several times, they reduce “Big Mike” to a set of academic scores, bickering among themselves about the extent of his lack of potential. Only one teacher is curious to understand Michael. She gradually converts most of the others to reconsider their assessment methods. Getting to know Michael, these teachers become willing to risk discomfort and conduct oral exams. Only one teacher holds out, inflexibly expecting Michael to adhere to his syllabus. Or maybe he has high standards and a strong sense of equity. Hard to tell.
The whole college recruiting process fails at hospitality. On the one side, they esteem Michael only on the basis of his game videos and his football stats. The coaches couch their recruiting spiels in hospitable terms but only for financial gain and career reputation. On the other side, the Tuohys only perfunctorily escort these coaches into their home, that is until the Ole Miss coach arrives. Yet even the welcome for the Ole Miss coach fails at hospitality because still in the entry way, Mrs. Tuohy coaches the coach on how to pursue Michael rather than how to get to know him.
Many more scenes—Michael’s mother’s place, the gang’s den, the Laundromat, the cafeteria, the library, the restaurants, the tutoring session, the DMV desk, the social services office, and the cars—depict hospitality gone bad for one of two reasons: an inability to take a risk or a failure to authentically view another person as a human being.
The growing hospitality tensions in the movie culminate when Mrs. Tuohy asks her husband if she is a good person. He assures her that she is the best person he knows. Why? Because everything she does is for others. Uncomforted, his wife inquires why she lives that way. Her husband rails back that he has no clue. The question of why she is so hospitable remains. Michael, clearly no limpet despite his poverty and orphan-like state, stands his ground. He demands a more thorough explanation when he suspects their inhospitality: “Why’d you do it?” “Was it for you or was it for me?” He repeats Mrs. Tuohy’s earlier threat: “Don’t you dare lie to me.” However, unlike her, he walks away, leaving the question unanswered. After a brief meandering and uncharacteristic muzziness, Mrs. Tuohy self-reflects and begins to answer the question. She concludes that she is culpable of subservance. She has always wanted Michael to play football for her alma mater. Without the blinders limiting Michael's life to that singular vision, Mrs. Tuohy realizes her more grievous error: she is not generous, and thus, possibly, not good. HM is eager to relate her lack of disinterested self-righteousness to hospitality, noting that Mrs. Tuohy expects the ultimate reciprocity from her guest--his blind adulation. She has been that puissant host unconcerned for her guest's preferences but obsessed with her own control. She has never once considered or inquired how her guest sees himself and what he wants for himself. She, like the leader of the Light Brigade, has erred. But unlike the leader’s men, Michael does not follow. He does not sacrifice his self-image and vision for his future. When Mrs. Tuohy finally and truly follows the advice she’s given his high school coach, she asks Michael what he wants to be and to do. Further, she promises Michael that she will support his self-concept and decisions. She gives him permission to self-actualize; and by doing so, self-actualizes herself. (Oops, I slipped into my other blog.) Mrs. Tuohy, taking the ultimate risk for any parent, also takes the ultimate risk for any host by assuring her guest that he can be himself.
It may seem a payoff for Mrs. Tuohy’s hospitality that Michael chooses Ole Miss in the end. But the movie rejects such a suspicion when it returns to the conference table. Growing more confident, Michael berates the obdurate NCAA investigator for never asking him why he chose Ole Miss. Perhaps, the movie berates us for our own assumptions about his choice. We and she should have inquired more thoroughly. Michael explains his decision in terms of reciprocity: it’s where his family has gone. He means, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Tuohy. The accusation has become the embrace. The reciprocity of hospitality extended with maximum risk has become protection, gratitude, and loyalty. He chooses them--his family--just as Mrs. Tuohy has learned to choose him—that is, apart from gain.
Why do we treat others well? Why do we risk being maimed, robbed, rejected, and ridiculed—all effects of hospitality in the movie? What Mrs. Tuohy and Michael learn is that sometimes the risk to understand and accept another person on his or her terms can create that rare friend that Aristotle describes as a soul mate. HM rejects Mrs. Tuohy’s final voiceover crediting God and Lawrence Taylor. Rather, HM gives credits Michael’s success and, more importantly, the “start of a beautiful friendship” to host and guest. With their last "proper hug," host and guest embrace but do not fuse. They will grow--apart from each other--but not apart. There will be more risks to take and much more to learn about each other. But if they continue to risk and explore, they will continue to be good people. Such is the goal and the gain of hospitality.
Here’s a quick montage of scenes from the opening of The Blind Side that present the hospitality risk vs. reciprocity dilemma:
• The movie begins with Lawrence Taylor breaking Joe Theisman’s leg. We see this 3 times. Strictly speaking, maiming, disfiguring, and killing an opponent is a breach of sports hospitality. Even for pugilists.
• Because of that injury, the second highest paid football player became the offensive left tackle, who is programmed to protect the quarterback. In case you miss that hospitality is tied to capital, the voiceover metaphorizes: as every housewife knows, the first check pays the mortgage and the second check pays the insurance. To protect, according to this scenario, is to protect against financial ruin, rather than to protect one’s integrity, for example.
• The third scene features Michael Oher (whom we’re meeting for the first time) being ushered into a conference room by a woman in business attire who emphatically excludes another woman who looks like she owns stock in Stein Mart. That woman and Michael are decidedly unhappy. No hospitality there. Further, when Michael is seated, it looks as if his legs won’t fit under the table. Thus, emotionally and physically, he has not been welcomed into an investigation that purports to protect his desires.
• Two Years Earlier: A beat-up car drives through a run-down neighborhood amidst litter, a collapsed home, and a (homeless ?) man pushing a shopping cart down the street. This is about as far from the Norman Rockwell painting displayed later in the movie as you can get.
• Next, we see a mechanic beg a coach to influence the administrators of a private Christian school to accept his nephew and a boy named “Big Mike,” whom we recognize from the conference scene. Why would the coach stick his neck out for this man and these kids he doesn’t know? Well, explains, the mechanic, there’s money to be made and there’s a football program to benefit. No pretense of hospitality.
Let me speed things up here because I’m not at the end of my first of nine pages of handwritten notes. And my one or two readers are not going to hang in much longer for me to make a point of all this.
When you afford someone else—the Other or others—hospitality, you take a risk. How big your willingness to take that risk depends on your philosophy of hospitality. The risks you're willing and unwilling to take affect every relationship between hosts and guests.
The Christian school’s football coach (as host) invites Michael (as guest) to join the team. Almost immediately, the coach laments the risk that he took badgering the administrators to accept Michael after it appears that Michael won’t hurt anyone on the field. Mrs. Tuohy excoriates the coach that he needs to get to know his players. According to Mrs. Tuohy, a coach/host can prevent a failed relationship with is player/guest if the coach/host would only acquire the necessary information, which in this case, is Michael’s score at the 98th percentile for protectiveness. While at first this scene suggests that getting to know your players/guests will guarantee success, upon reflection, this constitutes a “just the facts” approach to relationships and no face-to-face encounters that Martin Buber advocates.
Let’s pause to consider this interesting aspect of the risk side of the dilemma. At what point should you try to see the horizons (Gadamer) or search another's face (Buber)? At what point do you accept someone else’s background, vision, and gaze? Before or after the invitation to host? If before, risk is minimized. If after, risk is maximized. If you're not convinced, I recommend rereading the Odyssey, Huckleberry Finn, Medea, and The Metamorphoses. HM does, however, grant that not everyone is cut out to be Philemon or Baucis. But the point here is that not everyone aspires to be so trusting.
Several people host Michael, in addition to the NCAA investigator and high school football coach.
The school selection team members know little about him because his records are so incomplete; they accept/host him because they want to do “the right thing.” Their risk is huge.
The mechanic and his wife have taken in Michael on a temporary basis. It appears that they know Michael, so their risk seems minimal. However, the wife challenges the husband’s decision to host Michael rather than spend time with her. Spilling over a couch haphazardly made for his sleeping, “Big Mike” hears them arguing about dumping him at a shelter the next day. They are not willing to risk disrupting their home. Calling him “Big Mike,” we later discover, is the movie’s clue that they don’t really know Michael.
The teachers also don’t know Michael. Several times, they reduce “Big Mike” to a set of academic scores, bickering among themselves about the extent of his lack of potential. Only one teacher is curious to understand Michael. She gradually converts most of the others to reconsider their assessment methods. Getting to know Michael, these teachers become willing to risk discomfort and conduct oral exams. Only one teacher holds out, inflexibly expecting Michael to adhere to his syllabus. Or maybe he has high standards and a strong sense of equity. Hard to tell.
The whole college recruiting process fails at hospitality. On the one side, they esteem Michael only on the basis of his game videos and his football stats. The coaches couch their recruiting spiels in hospitable terms but only for financial gain and career reputation. On the other side, the Tuohys only perfunctorily escort these coaches into their home, that is until the Ole Miss coach arrives. Yet even the welcome for the Ole Miss coach fails at hospitality because still in the entry way, Mrs. Tuohy coaches the coach on how to pursue Michael rather than how to get to know him.
Many more scenes—Michael’s mother’s place, the gang’s den, the Laundromat, the cafeteria, the library, the restaurants, the tutoring session, the DMV desk, the social services office, and the cars—depict hospitality gone bad for one of two reasons: an inability to take a risk or a failure to authentically view another person as a human being.
The growing hospitality tensions in the movie culminate when Mrs. Tuohy asks her husband if she is a good person. He assures her that she is the best person he knows. Why? Because everything she does is for others. Uncomforted, his wife inquires why she lives that way. Her husband rails back that he has no clue. The question of why she is so hospitable remains. Michael, clearly no limpet despite his poverty and orphan-like state, stands his ground. He demands a more thorough explanation when he suspects their inhospitality: “Why’d you do it?” “Was it for you or was it for me?” He repeats Mrs. Tuohy’s earlier threat: “Don’t you dare lie to me.” However, unlike her, he walks away, leaving the question unanswered. After a brief meandering and uncharacteristic muzziness, Mrs. Tuohy self-reflects and begins to answer the question. She concludes that she is culpable of subservance. She has always wanted Michael to play football for her alma mater. Without the blinders limiting Michael's life to that singular vision, Mrs. Tuohy realizes her more grievous error: she is not generous, and thus, possibly, not good. HM is eager to relate her lack of disinterested self-righteousness to hospitality, noting that Mrs. Tuohy expects the ultimate reciprocity from her guest--his blind adulation. She has been that puissant host unconcerned for her guest's preferences but obsessed with her own control. She has never once considered or inquired how her guest sees himself and what he wants for himself. She, like the leader of the Light Brigade, has erred. But unlike the leader’s men, Michael does not follow. He does not sacrifice his self-image and vision for his future. When Mrs. Tuohy finally and truly follows the advice she’s given his high school coach, she asks Michael what he wants to be and to do. Further, she promises Michael that she will support his self-concept and decisions. She gives him permission to self-actualize; and by doing so, self-actualizes herself. (Oops, I slipped into my other blog.) Mrs. Tuohy, taking the ultimate risk for any parent, also takes the ultimate risk for any host by assuring her guest that he can be himself.
It may seem a payoff for Mrs. Tuohy’s hospitality that Michael chooses Ole Miss in the end. But the movie rejects such a suspicion when it returns to the conference table. Growing more confident, Michael berates the obdurate NCAA investigator for never asking him why he chose Ole Miss. Perhaps, the movie berates us for our own assumptions about his choice. We and she should have inquired more thoroughly. Michael explains his decision in terms of reciprocity: it’s where his family has gone. He means, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Tuohy. The accusation has become the embrace. The reciprocity of hospitality extended with maximum risk has become protection, gratitude, and loyalty. He chooses them--his family--just as Mrs. Tuohy has learned to choose him—that is, apart from gain.
Why do we treat others well? Why do we risk being maimed, robbed, rejected, and ridiculed—all effects of hospitality in the movie? What Mrs. Tuohy and Michael learn is that sometimes the risk to understand and accept another person on his or her terms can create that rare friend that Aristotle describes as a soul mate. HM rejects Mrs. Tuohy’s final voiceover crediting God and Lawrence Taylor. Rather, HM gives credits Michael’s success and, more importantly, the “start of a beautiful friendship” to host and guest. With their last "proper hug," host and guest embrace but do not fuse. They will grow--apart from each other--but not apart. There will be more risks to take and much more to learn about each other. But if they continue to risk and explore, they will continue to be good people. Such is the goal and the gain of hospitality.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Hospitality Lessons for Same-sex Weddings
Same-sex fiancés living in states that don’t grant same-sex marriages must "elope" to legally marry. Obviously, this scenario differs significantly from the typical elopement attitude of “screw everyone, we’re out of here.” Hospitality Morality would like to explore these differences in an attempt to discard the word "elopement" as applied to same-sex out-of-state weddings and, therefore, dispel any sense of rejecting. HM would like to investigate some of the delicacies of this situation and offer a few hospitality lessons—learned, as usual, on the heals of failing big time at each of them. :(
Lesson #1: Don’t use the word “elopement” when the couple has informed people, including their parents, in advance of the wedding. Merriam-Webster guides us to believe that eloping is secretive. So the couple is not eloping, per say. They are escaping. The rhetoric is important because it eliminates that "screw them..." attitude. Rather, these escaping fiancés are fleeing a state that fails to grant them a legal union (although it might recognize it, which seems hypocritical to HM). The couple is forced to escape their state and find another that will license their marriage. But escape doesn't necessitate secrecy. So if they’ve told their family, friends, co-workers, facebookers, etc., it’s not an elopement. It’s an “escapement.”
Lesson #2: Accept that the couple's plans may appear desultory only because they're not afforded the traditional wedding guidelines. Without a script to guide them, they struggle whether to invite people to witness their non-traditional wedding. Let’s take a minute to visualize the actual wedding "ceremony." Does the couple escape to (or reside in) a state that requires them to submit paperwork in advance, waiting a few days before being wedded? If so, should they invite people to witness this filing? Probably not. So now they’re down to the wedding "ceremony." Let’s inspect the most non-traditional wedding: they’re not religious. So they’re standing before some unfamiliar justice of the peace for a quick “ritual.” Names, a simple Q&A, vows, affection, and finis. If they’re not constructing a religious or more elaborate ceremony and they’re simply appearing before a justice of the peace, are they setting their guests up for a bit of disappointment? After all, their guests have likely experienced far more intricate wedding rituals. The last thing the couple wants, beginning their lives together, is to turn and face their loved ones who seem to convey, “That’s it?”
Lesson #3: Embrace the couple’s intentions to include their loved ones and achates in their joy although they've decided not to invite them to their wedding. Parties, vacations, restaurant meals, holidays, and family reunions are but a few suggested occasions for everyone to come together, celebrate this lovely union, and enjoy some raillery. If these events are planned and announced before the wedding, supporters have a better chance of feeling appreciated and included. And they should be grateful for that.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Freedom to Marry: http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays: http://community.pflag.org/Page.aspx?pid=194&srcid=-2
Lesson #1: Don’t use the word “elopement” when the couple has informed people, including their parents, in advance of the wedding. Merriam-Webster guides us to believe that eloping is secretive. So the couple is not eloping, per say. They are escaping. The rhetoric is important because it eliminates that "screw them..." attitude. Rather, these escaping fiancés are fleeing a state that fails to grant them a legal union (although it might recognize it, which seems hypocritical to HM). The couple is forced to escape their state and find another that will license their marriage. But escape doesn't necessitate secrecy. So if they’ve told their family, friends, co-workers, facebookers, etc., it’s not an elopement. It’s an “escapement.”
Lesson #2: Accept that the couple's plans may appear desultory only because they're not afforded the traditional wedding guidelines. Without a script to guide them, they struggle whether to invite people to witness their non-traditional wedding. Let’s take a minute to visualize the actual wedding "ceremony." Does the couple escape to (or reside in) a state that requires them to submit paperwork in advance, waiting a few days before being wedded? If so, should they invite people to witness this filing? Probably not. So now they’re down to the wedding "ceremony." Let’s inspect the most non-traditional wedding: they’re not religious. So they’re standing before some unfamiliar justice of the peace for a quick “ritual.” Names, a simple Q&A, vows, affection, and finis. If they’re not constructing a religious or more elaborate ceremony and they’re simply appearing before a justice of the peace, are they setting their guests up for a bit of disappointment? After all, their guests have likely experienced far more intricate wedding rituals. The last thing the couple wants, beginning their lives together, is to turn and face their loved ones who seem to convey, “That’s it?”
Lesson #3: Embrace the couple’s intentions to include their loved ones and achates in their joy although they've decided not to invite them to their wedding. Parties, vacations, restaurant meals, holidays, and family reunions are but a few suggested occasions for everyone to come together, celebrate this lovely union, and enjoy some raillery. If these events are planned and announced before the wedding, supporters have a better chance of feeling appreciated and included. And they should be grateful for that.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Freedom to Marry: http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays: http://community.pflag.org/Page.aspx?pid=194&srcid=-2
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Hospitality at the sports center
Whether you're aware of it or not, sports and sports centers depend on hospitality.
Take, for example, the concept of a lap lane. The sign says it all: “continuous swimming” is required. As such, "lap” becomes a verb: “to complete the circuit of (a racecourse)” or “to traverse a course” [Merriam Webster]. Hence, when a swimmer approaches a pool gabber with the request to “share” the lane, the polite nudge is to swim or give up the lane. Despite these three guides—the sign, the verb, and the nudge—said pool puddler will likely agree to share but remain gabbing in the lane. For your next 24 laps. This is unnecessary. The sports center has done its job, the lapper has done his job, but the swimless swimmer has not. Hospitality has been breached. And, as always, the question lurks, can one insist upon another’s hospitality? Yes. A simple conversation is appropriate the first time you must swim around the guy standing in the lap lane. It should go something like this: “It’s not easy to maintain my momentum when I have to swim around you.” No response? Next lap: "Wearing these goggles makes it difficult for me to see you. I’d hate to run into you.” No response? Well, then you've beggared your hospitality strategies and must give up. The lug won; you lost. But if your finger tips should lightly graze the lap intruder on your next lap as you barely pass around him—due to the difficulty of spotting him, of course-- you’ve broken no hospitality rules. And you may just find the lane a bit emptier upon your next lap. That’s one intruder handled if not hospitably, at least not inhospitably.
A similar lack of a gentle hospitality solution occurs with the tennis court encroacher. For not the first, second, or third time, you’re playing with your chums on a court one of you reserved when this familiar Termagant stomps up to you and announces that she has reserved your court for this time and that you and your buddies must vacate immediately. No discussion, no apology, no collegiality--just her usual blustering attack on your right to play. Maintaining your equanimity, you suggest she check with the tennis pro. She won't. You're still playing. A hospitatality standoff ensues. Superadded to your frustration with her is your frustration with your friends who back down. Why you're surprised, I can't say; for they always relinquish the court to this female bully. You know that this is misplaced chivalry on your friends’ part, but you fail to convince them. The final insult occurs when, after giving up the court, you discover that the female group is missing their fourth. When you return home early, your wife asks if you were rained out. You reply that you were “womaned out.” Your wife will now hear this all too familiar story of female bullying. It's time to face the truth: no amount of hospitality can convert a bully. A bully esteems hospitality as a weakness. A bully attacks the weak. Hospitality Morality recommends stepping up your hospitality game instead. Ask the sport center's authorities to assize the dispute. If the error was yours, leave the court and apologize to only those who have been polite to you. If all have been rude, simply leave. If you feel the need to apologize, you probably won’t be sincere. And bullies don’t want apologies. So don’t bother. If the error was theirs, play on and ignore any taunts. A bully will look elsewhere for a less formidable foe. Beware court #2!
We can we learn three lessons about hospitality from these sports scenarios. First, hospitality is critical to maintaining a convivial atmosphere in a competitive environment. Second, hospitality may require a bit of chicancery. Third, only authoritative hospitality affects bullies.
Take, for example, the concept of a lap lane. The sign says it all: “continuous swimming” is required. As such, "lap” becomes a verb: “to complete the circuit of (a racecourse)” or “to traverse a course” [Merriam Webster]. Hence, when a swimmer approaches a pool gabber with the request to “share” the lane, the polite nudge is to swim or give up the lane. Despite these three guides—the sign, the verb, and the nudge—said pool puddler will likely agree to share but remain gabbing in the lane. For your next 24 laps. This is unnecessary. The sports center has done its job, the lapper has done his job, but the swimless swimmer has not. Hospitality has been breached. And, as always, the question lurks, can one insist upon another’s hospitality? Yes. A simple conversation is appropriate the first time you must swim around the guy standing in the lap lane. It should go something like this: “It’s not easy to maintain my momentum when I have to swim around you.” No response? Next lap: "Wearing these goggles makes it difficult for me to see you. I’d hate to run into you.” No response? Well, then you've beggared your hospitality strategies and must give up. The lug won; you lost. But if your finger tips should lightly graze the lap intruder on your next lap as you barely pass around him—due to the difficulty of spotting him, of course-- you’ve broken no hospitality rules. And you may just find the lane a bit emptier upon your next lap. That’s one intruder handled if not hospitably, at least not inhospitably.
A similar lack of a gentle hospitality solution occurs with the tennis court encroacher. For not the first, second, or third time, you’re playing with your chums on a court one of you reserved when this familiar Termagant stomps up to you and announces that she has reserved your court for this time and that you and your buddies must vacate immediately. No discussion, no apology, no collegiality--just her usual blustering attack on your right to play. Maintaining your equanimity, you suggest she check with the tennis pro. She won't. You're still playing. A hospitatality standoff ensues. Superadded to your frustration with her is your frustration with your friends who back down. Why you're surprised, I can't say; for they always relinquish the court to this female bully. You know that this is misplaced chivalry on your friends’ part, but you fail to convince them. The final insult occurs when, after giving up the court, you discover that the female group is missing their fourth. When you return home early, your wife asks if you were rained out. You reply that you were “womaned out.” Your wife will now hear this all too familiar story of female bullying. It's time to face the truth: no amount of hospitality can convert a bully. A bully esteems hospitality as a weakness. A bully attacks the weak. Hospitality Morality recommends stepping up your hospitality game instead. Ask the sport center's authorities to assize the dispute. If the error was yours, leave the court and apologize to only those who have been polite to you. If all have been rude, simply leave. If you feel the need to apologize, you probably won’t be sincere. And bullies don’t want apologies. So don’t bother. If the error was theirs, play on and ignore any taunts. A bully will look elsewhere for a less formidable foe. Beware court #2!
We can we learn three lessons about hospitality from these sports scenarios. First, hospitality is critical to maintaining a convivial atmosphere in a competitive environment. Second, hospitality may require a bit of chicancery. Third, only authoritative hospitality affects bullies.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Telfer's Food for Thought: notes and comments (Hospitality Congeniality)
source: Telfer, Elizabeth. Food for Thought: Philosophy and Food. London: Routledge, 1996.
Telfer reminds us of Plato's, Aristotle's, Kant's, and Mill's positions on morality, which she relates to the issues of pleasure and, ultimately, food. Plato, privileging the rational and the immortal, advocates surpassing the appetites in favor of pursuing the Forms. Aristotle, another fan of the rational, also, values practical wisdom and the pursuit of good for humans and not the gods. But beware, Epicureanism: “Aristotle rehabilitates the physical pleasures in the context of his account of the virtue of temperance, which he defines as the virtue concerned with the desire for the pleasures of food, drink and sex.” Kant, insisting on the moral will, affords hospitality the potential for ethic. Because Mill values pleasure, he allows for the merits of physical pleasure. In conclusion, the valuing and devaluing of pleasure depends upon the valuing and devaluing of the physical.
My reaction: I'm inclined to take a Kantian approach to the perceived binary opposition of the merits of humans as rational vs. physical beings, attempting to merge these positions. One of Kant's contributions to philosophy...and our lives...is his merging of Platonic and Aristotelian worldviews. I'm following his lead by proposing that through both the physical and the rational, we can achieve moments or states of transcendence. In terms of hospitality and, in particular, preparing and enjoying a meal, we combine the appropriate will--motivations and desires--with the culinary arts. With the proper intentions and aesthetic presentation, the meal becomes a blending of physical pleasures with proper intention. The meal, then, affords the possibility of transcendence—not from the physical—but from the ordinary stinginess and mediocrity of life.
Telfer catalogues the reasons and occasions for serving and enjoying meals: religious observances, allegiance statements, value assertions, event celebrations, friendship and love acts, civilization and taste demonstrations, and aesthetic presentations (38-39). Coupled with the reasons for enjoying meals are the motivations for hosting those meals. Motivation, for Telfer, is a key criterion for hospitality. She cites five properly motivated desires: companionship, entertaining, pleasing others, meeting another’s need, and a sense of duty.
My reaction: At first glance, it seemed that some of these reasons violate proper motivations for hospitableness. After all, we're trained to believe that anytime a host orchestrates an event just to prove herself, the moral value of her effort declines. But is there no room for the host's flair or dare I suggest, for the host's showboating her culinary efforts? Isn't it awesome that I can devise a theme that takes me way out of my cooking comfort zone, prepare food and organize the house to entertain two dozen people (who I don't really know very well), and meander through the actual event without horribly embarrassing myself or my kin? You say, not really? Then, you've never hosted such an event. I don't think (or at least trying not to say) that tearing and tossing a 4-ingredient salad with store-bought dressing to accompany a 5-can casserole and bakery bread, followed by the grocery bakery's pie has no merit. I applaud those hosts. But I don't admire them. They have extended the minimum effort--planning, preparing, and presenting little. Minimum effort, I suppose, can produce maximum pleasure. OK, I concede that such a meal could afford a tasty venue and enjoyable experience. But isn't something missing--the pleasure of someone fretting about how her guests can best be cared for? And unlike Luther, to me, motivation comes second to work ethic. When I host and am hosted, I want to feel and witness that hospitality required work. Lots of work. And risk...but that’s another blog.
Telfer's definition of hospitality: "the giving of food, drink and sometimes accommodation to people who are not regular members of a household” (83).
My reaction: The key word is "giving" because it prohibits hospitality that hinges only on duty. Have you ever hosted a hospitable event begrudgingly? I haven't. I probably shouldn't confess this, lest some of my former guests would ever read this blog, but so many of my hostings have started out with the purest of intentions only to be spoiled by my guests' reactions (or failures to react). If you're wondering what I'm talking about see my Ten Tips blog. If you have advice for me to toughen up and power through inconsiderate guests, please, deluge me with your wisdom. I just can't seem to let go of the accumulating barrage of non-RSVPs, unsolicited dinner suggestions for improving a dish, compliments only about the one item I didn't create, ushering through the door uninvited guests (strangers, in fact), texting, and sending no thank-you note or even mumbling a post-dinner gratitude. I'll stop. I've clearly lost the focus of being a truly hospitable host (which is why I so desperately need your advice). Mea maxima culpa. Let me return to Telfer's definition, emphasizing “giving" and adding the need to risk one's feelings getting hurt.
Telfer reminds us that eating together often protects guests and hosts from future animosity--at least within the home. Telfer reflects that the jealous Hunding is more concerned for hospitality codes than for any other morality code, tricking Siegmund to leave the home in order to be murdered. Telfer cites the Bedouin prohibition of fighting someone with whom one's eaten salt.
My reaction: This is good to remember no matter what culture we come from and live in. Once a guest, never an enemy—at least in your home. If only diplomacy could hinge on sharing a meal.
Finally, Telfer wonders if hospitality is a moral virtue.
My reaction: Being hospitable requires being a better person. And being a better person requires being hospitable. In essence, that’s the agenda of this bog site—to learn how to become more moral by becoming more hospitable.
Telfer reminds us of Plato's, Aristotle's, Kant's, and Mill's positions on morality, which she relates to the issues of pleasure and, ultimately, food. Plato, privileging the rational and the immortal, advocates surpassing the appetites in favor of pursuing the Forms. Aristotle, another fan of the rational, also, values practical wisdom and the pursuit of good for humans and not the gods. But beware, Epicureanism: “Aristotle rehabilitates the physical pleasures in the context of his account of the virtue of temperance, which he defines as the virtue concerned with the desire for the pleasures of food, drink and sex.” Kant, insisting on the moral will, affords hospitality the potential for ethic. Because Mill values pleasure, he allows for the merits of physical pleasure. In conclusion, the valuing and devaluing of pleasure depends upon the valuing and devaluing of the physical.
My reaction: I'm inclined to take a Kantian approach to the perceived binary opposition of the merits of humans as rational vs. physical beings, attempting to merge these positions. One of Kant's contributions to philosophy...and our lives...is his merging of Platonic and Aristotelian worldviews. I'm following his lead by proposing that through both the physical and the rational, we can achieve moments or states of transcendence. In terms of hospitality and, in particular, preparing and enjoying a meal, we combine the appropriate will--motivations and desires--with the culinary arts. With the proper intentions and aesthetic presentation, the meal becomes a blending of physical pleasures with proper intention. The meal, then, affords the possibility of transcendence—not from the physical—but from the ordinary stinginess and mediocrity of life.
Telfer catalogues the reasons and occasions for serving and enjoying meals: religious observances, allegiance statements, value assertions, event celebrations, friendship and love acts, civilization and taste demonstrations, and aesthetic presentations (38-39). Coupled with the reasons for enjoying meals are the motivations for hosting those meals. Motivation, for Telfer, is a key criterion for hospitality. She cites five properly motivated desires: companionship, entertaining, pleasing others, meeting another’s need, and a sense of duty.
My reaction: At first glance, it seemed that some of these reasons violate proper motivations for hospitableness. After all, we're trained to believe that anytime a host orchestrates an event just to prove herself, the moral value of her effort declines. But is there no room for the host's flair or dare I suggest, for the host's showboating her culinary efforts? Isn't it awesome that I can devise a theme that takes me way out of my cooking comfort zone, prepare food and organize the house to entertain two dozen people (who I don't really know very well), and meander through the actual event without horribly embarrassing myself or my kin? You say, not really? Then, you've never hosted such an event. I don't think (or at least trying not to say) that tearing and tossing a 4-ingredient salad with store-bought dressing to accompany a 5-can casserole and bakery bread, followed by the grocery bakery's pie has no merit. I applaud those hosts. But I don't admire them. They have extended the minimum effort--planning, preparing, and presenting little. Minimum effort, I suppose, can produce maximum pleasure. OK, I concede that such a meal could afford a tasty venue and enjoyable experience. But isn't something missing--the pleasure of someone fretting about how her guests can best be cared for? And unlike Luther, to me, motivation comes second to work ethic. When I host and am hosted, I want to feel and witness that hospitality required work. Lots of work. And risk...but that’s another blog.
Telfer's definition of hospitality: "the giving of food, drink and sometimes accommodation to people who are not regular members of a household” (83).
My reaction: The key word is "giving" because it prohibits hospitality that hinges only on duty. Have you ever hosted a hospitable event begrudgingly? I haven't. I probably shouldn't confess this, lest some of my former guests would ever read this blog, but so many of my hostings have started out with the purest of intentions only to be spoiled by my guests' reactions (or failures to react). If you're wondering what I'm talking about see my Ten Tips blog. If you have advice for me to toughen up and power through inconsiderate guests, please, deluge me with your wisdom. I just can't seem to let go of the accumulating barrage of non-RSVPs, unsolicited dinner suggestions for improving a dish, compliments only about the one item I didn't create, ushering through the door uninvited guests (strangers, in fact), texting, and sending no thank-you note or even mumbling a post-dinner gratitude. I'll stop. I've clearly lost the focus of being a truly hospitable host (which is why I so desperately need your advice). Mea maxima culpa. Let me return to Telfer's definition, emphasizing “giving" and adding the need to risk one's feelings getting hurt.
Telfer reminds us that eating together often protects guests and hosts from future animosity--at least within the home. Telfer reflects that the jealous Hunding is more concerned for hospitality codes than for any other morality code, tricking Siegmund to leave the home in order to be murdered. Telfer cites the Bedouin prohibition of fighting someone with whom one's eaten salt.
My reaction: This is good to remember no matter what culture we come from and live in. Once a guest, never an enemy—at least in your home. If only diplomacy could hinge on sharing a meal.
Finally, Telfer wonders if hospitality is a moral virtue.
My reaction: Being hospitable requires being a better person. And being a better person requires being hospitable. In essence, that’s the agenda of this bog site—to learn how to become more moral by becoming more hospitable.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Job Wanted: hospitality accommodations inspector (Hospitality Fatality)
I want to be a hospitality accommodations inspector. And if there isn't such a job, I want to inaugurate one. I'm perfect for this job, at least how I envision the job desciption: given one 3-day visit (weekend and weekday) to a hotel, pension, B &B, etc. the hospitality accommodation inspectation will be able to suggest many low-cost, practical, and high-return hospitality improvements.
One observation from the Germany trip would be that a guest’s first impression is crucial. Rule #1: There should be some kind of hospitable greeting. For example, we arrived at a hotel in Munich and were immediately disoriented because even though this is a Starwood preferred hotel, there was no one to greet us when we entered the main entrance. In fact, I remarked to my husband that this couldn't be the reception entrance because it was deserted outside. Stepping through the door produced no greeter as well. If the check-in desk hadn't been in sight, we would have never known that we were at the reception area. This proved to be the hotel's standard; we never saw a bellman (bellperson?) during our comings and goings. Another example of a greeting let-down was when we arrived at a pension where the owner was so frazzled that we needed a car spot (even though the hotel advertises free parking), that she could barely check us in. Sure enough, when we returned late that night, there were no available parking spots. OK, we weren't really surprised because the owner had been distraught. But we couldn't figure out why she hadn't prepared us for optional parking choices.
What accommodation personnel need to realize is that first-time guests are holding their breath to verify that they've booked an acceptable lodging. Understandably, most guests want to be assured, not that they're staying at the Neuschwanstein Castle, but just that they're not staying at Hotel California.
Frankly, to ease first-time guests' relief takes little trouble. However, it does require a deliberate sense of hospitality--to extend a warm welcome, an efficient check-in, and a courteous set of directions for a pleasant stay.
My hospitality accommodation recommendations are to skip the goldfish adornment, the embellished spa products, and the prestigious bedding. Rather, concentrate on a personal interaction and a professional experience.
PS...If you are in need of a hospitality accomodations inspector, send me your request. I'm available!
One observation from the Germany trip would be that a guest’s first impression is crucial. Rule #1: There should be some kind of hospitable greeting. For example, we arrived at a hotel in Munich and were immediately disoriented because even though this is a Starwood preferred hotel, there was no one to greet us when we entered the main entrance. In fact, I remarked to my husband that this couldn't be the reception entrance because it was deserted outside. Stepping through the door produced no greeter as well. If the check-in desk hadn't been in sight, we would have never known that we were at the reception area. This proved to be the hotel's standard; we never saw a bellman (bellperson?) during our comings and goings. Another example of a greeting let-down was when we arrived at a pension where the owner was so frazzled that we needed a car spot (even though the hotel advertises free parking), that she could barely check us in. Sure enough, when we returned late that night, there were no available parking spots. OK, we weren't really surprised because the owner had been distraught. But we couldn't figure out why she hadn't prepared us for optional parking choices.
What accommodation personnel need to realize is that first-time guests are holding their breath to verify that they've booked an acceptable lodging. Understandably, most guests want to be assured, not that they're staying at the Neuschwanstein Castle, but just that they're not staying at Hotel California.
Frankly, to ease first-time guests' relief takes little trouble. However, it does require a deliberate sense of hospitality--to extend a warm welcome, an efficient check-in, and a courteous set of directions for a pleasant stay.
My hospitality accommodation recommendations are to skip the goldfish adornment, the embellished spa products, and the prestigious bedding. Rather, concentrate on a personal interaction and a professional experience.
PS...If you are in need of a hospitality accomodations inspector, send me your request. I'm available!
Germany, round two (Hospitality Nationality)
German Hospitality…round two.
Based on two recent trips—one to Aachen, Koln, and Munster and one to Bavaria--I reflect upon some similarities and some differences in “German” hospitality practices.
In both regions, I noticed that urban dwellers are far more rule-oriented than country dwellers. Just try to return a defective rental car after driving it only 3 km from the Munich airport and not wanting to withstand the usual return process and you’ll see what I mean. Don’t even think about crossing a deserted street in Dusseldorf if the light indicates not to walk. There’s no negotiating and no individualism. And no one seems to mind. You walk into the modern art museum in Munich, pay your fee, and inquire about a “plan.” Then, you’re sent all the way across a wide lobby to the information desk. Why, you ask, can’t the ticket taker give you a plan? Because that’s what the information desk worker does. And so on. As an American, this attention to and complacency with regimen is both baffling and irritating. But I don’t think that Germans intend that at all. In fact, following the rules seems to be a great equalizer. Their Ten Commandments mentality—with more prohibitions than prescriptions—applies to everyone. Foreign and native, rich and poor, old and young. Everybody is expected to follow the rules. Outside of the big cities, however, I didn’t find this to be the case. There, hospitality relied on more personal interaction. As such, this was rather hit and miss. Upon reflection, there’s something to be said for codes unless you want to rely on the goodness of human nature, which I don’t.
In both regions, we were delighted with eating “family style.” Although both my husband and I prefer only our own company when eating out, we often enjoy eating family style in a pub (although not on cruise ships). You see, there’s no pressure in German beer houses to adopt a new best friend for the duration of your meal. You talk to someone else at your table, or you don’t. Either way, your pig’s knuckle with come succulently prepared with a big knife impaled in its crisp skin. Either way, your beer glass will enjoy eternal refills. But if it suits you—or the others at your table—to converse occasionally, all the better. At a very local beer house in Munich, we were seated at a long table with a placard that read, “Walter, Ulli, and friend.” Mid-way through our meal, the gentleman next to me introduced himself as “Ulli” and identified “Walter” and “friend” seated around him. To say that Ulli is a regular is understating his commitment to the establishment. He is a daily customer and a paragon of hospitality, regaling us with his drinking stories but respecting our privacy when our dinner arrived. He reminds me of all those Great Books in which travelers are welcomed to foreign tables and entertained with stories but not badgered with questions.
In the northern region, people were friendlier. They were more curious about why I was traveling to their area. They were more tolerant with my language limitations. They seemed much happier, more content. But perhaps, this is not a regional distinction but an economic one. That is, perhaps, it’s because Munster is not so much a tourist city as are the Bavarian countryside towns and Munich. Ironically, the less touristy places afforded the higher the level of hospitality.
Go to Germany...
...for the food. I don’t know why German cuisine isn’t raved about. It’s delicious and hearty!
...for the scenery. The Bavarian Alps,as just one example, are gorgeous—even in the cold rain.
...for the culture. You’ll improve your sense of history, art, and religion.
...for the people. They may not be "howdy" friendly, but they are a generous and gracious folk.
Go to Germany...for their brand of hospitality.
Based on two recent trips—one to Aachen, Koln, and Munster and one to Bavaria--I reflect upon some similarities and some differences in “German” hospitality practices.
In both regions, I noticed that urban dwellers are far more rule-oriented than country dwellers. Just try to return a defective rental car after driving it only 3 km from the Munich airport and not wanting to withstand the usual return process and you’ll see what I mean. Don’t even think about crossing a deserted street in Dusseldorf if the light indicates not to walk. There’s no negotiating and no individualism. And no one seems to mind. You walk into the modern art museum in Munich, pay your fee, and inquire about a “plan.” Then, you’re sent all the way across a wide lobby to the information desk. Why, you ask, can’t the ticket taker give you a plan? Because that’s what the information desk worker does. And so on. As an American, this attention to and complacency with regimen is both baffling and irritating. But I don’t think that Germans intend that at all. In fact, following the rules seems to be a great equalizer. Their Ten Commandments mentality—with more prohibitions than prescriptions—applies to everyone. Foreign and native, rich and poor, old and young. Everybody is expected to follow the rules. Outside of the big cities, however, I didn’t find this to be the case. There, hospitality relied on more personal interaction. As such, this was rather hit and miss. Upon reflection, there’s something to be said for codes unless you want to rely on the goodness of human nature, which I don’t.
In both regions, we were delighted with eating “family style.” Although both my husband and I prefer only our own company when eating out, we often enjoy eating family style in a pub (although not on cruise ships). You see, there’s no pressure in German beer houses to adopt a new best friend for the duration of your meal. You talk to someone else at your table, or you don’t. Either way, your pig’s knuckle with come succulently prepared with a big knife impaled in its crisp skin. Either way, your beer glass will enjoy eternal refills. But if it suits you—or the others at your table—to converse occasionally, all the better. At a very local beer house in Munich, we were seated at a long table with a placard that read, “Walter, Ulli, and friend.” Mid-way through our meal, the gentleman next to me introduced himself as “Ulli” and identified “Walter” and “friend” seated around him. To say that Ulli is a regular is understating his commitment to the establishment. He is a daily customer and a paragon of hospitality, regaling us with his drinking stories but respecting our privacy when our dinner arrived. He reminds me of all those Great Books in which travelers are welcomed to foreign tables and entertained with stories but not badgered with questions.
In the northern region, people were friendlier. They were more curious about why I was traveling to their area. They were more tolerant with my language limitations. They seemed much happier, more content. But perhaps, this is not a regional distinction but an economic one. That is, perhaps, it’s because Munster is not so much a tourist city as are the Bavarian countryside towns and Munich. Ironically, the less touristy places afforded the higher the level of hospitality.
Go to Germany...
...for the food. I don’t know why German cuisine isn’t raved about. It’s delicious and hearty!
...for the scenery. The Bavarian Alps,as just one example, are gorgeous—even in the cold rain.
...for the culture. You’ll improve your sense of history, art, and religion.
...for the people. They may not be "howdy" friendly, but they are a generous and gracious folk.
Go to Germany...for their brand of hospitality.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Rosello and Respect for Hospitality Research (Hospitality Congeniality)
In Postcolonial Hospitality: The Immigrant as Guest, Mireille Rosello explores the relationship between hospitality ethics and hospitality laws. Concerned with France in the aftermath of the 1993 Pasqual immigration laws, Rosello concludes that the French government had virtually turned the “clandestine (illegal immigrant) into an enemy of the state, the most easily identifiable national scapegoat (1).” Citing this instance, Rosello more broadly reflects upon the long history of hospitality as “ancient classical tradition, a philosophical value, an ethical imperative, a political issue, and also a polymorphous individual practice… (6).” Laws govern hospitality. So do individuals.
I’m wondering if there might not be any philosophical difference between those governors. Or if there is, should there be?
Bifurcating hospitality into public and private realms, Rosello writes that “hospitality as metaphor blurs the distinction between a discourse of rights and a discourse of generosity. . .” (9). However, if countries act as hosts, treating immigrants, for example, as guests and—therefore, as equals—would we need to distinguish between public and private acts of hospitality, between rights and generosity?
In my discussions about hospitality—with my colleagues, students, and family—it doesn’t seem that the subject is taken seriously. Typically, these very brief discussions soon become monologues; my frustration mounts; and I proclaim that no less noble research could be done than that in the pursuit of hospitality values and practices. Making little headway, I blunder forward, insisting that really bad diseases aside, the human race would suffer no turmoil, tragedy, or terror if we all acted hospitably to each other—on a national and personal level. Usually at this point, one of two reactions occurs: a snicker or a retort about natural disasters causing problems.* Fine, I’ll add that to my assertion: Except for really bad diseases and natural disasters, the human race would live blissfully if it lived hospitably. Now, I’m left with only the snickerers.
They’re a tough bunch. They’re the 1) Machiavellis, 2) Hobbeses, 3) Miltons, 4) Millses or 5) Augustines. They assert that left without powerful restraining mechanisms, mankind would annihilate itself because human nature is 1) aggressive, 2) ruled by fear of death, 3) overreaching, 4) mediocre, or 5) weak.
Let me grant all of their pessimistic views of mankind. Unlike Plato, I’m willing to assume that human nature is innately and critically flawed. Then what? Where do we go from that position? 1) We can build up our fortresses. 2) We can relinquish our power and freedom to a single protector. 3) We can accept mortality as our punishment for hubris. 4) We can build up our government systems. 5) We can embrace suffering as our salvation.
Or we could strive to act decently to each other. We need to be inspired to overcome our flawed human nature. Enter Jacques Derrida.
You can’t research hospitality for long without reading acknowledgments to Derrida. Rosello interprets his stand on hospitality for us: “Pure, unconditional or infinite hospitality cannot and must not be anything else but an acceptance of risk. If I am sure that the newcomer that I welcome is perfectly harmless, innocent, that (s)he will be beneficial to me…it is not hospitality. When I open my door, I must be ready to take the greatest of risks” (11-12). I've read some Derrida and, in fact, I once heard him speak. From what I read, heard, and saw, he seemed genuinely sincere, playful, and lovely. I know that his own character shouldn't determine how seriously I adopt his ethics. But I often recall with fondness how delightful he seemed. And, maybe it's shallow, but that inspires me.
For me, Derrida poses the challenge of hospitality. As a host, am I not allowed any expectations of my guests? Realistically, aren't my guests obligated to treat me with respect in return for my generosity? Or, as Derrida believes, is being hospitable a demonstration of unconditional acceptance? At this point in my research, this is my dilemma: I want to be a Derrida, but I don't want to be a doormat.
But I don’t want to be a doormat.
Well…I’ll keep researching, thinking, writing, and trying to practice hospitality with more magnanimity and less intolerance.
*Recently, a colleague in the biology department corrected me that hospitable behavior would eliminate many “really bad diseases.”
Rosello, Mireille. Postcolonial Hospitality: The Immigrant as Guest. Stanford, California: 2001.
Derrida 1999b, 137 “Debate: One Hospitality Without Condition.”
I’m wondering if there might not be any philosophical difference between those governors. Or if there is, should there be?
Bifurcating hospitality into public and private realms, Rosello writes that “hospitality as metaphor blurs the distinction between a discourse of rights and a discourse of generosity. . .” (9). However, if countries act as hosts, treating immigrants, for example, as guests and—therefore, as equals—would we need to distinguish between public and private acts of hospitality, between rights and generosity?
In my discussions about hospitality—with my colleagues, students, and family—it doesn’t seem that the subject is taken seriously. Typically, these very brief discussions soon become monologues; my frustration mounts; and I proclaim that no less noble research could be done than that in the pursuit of hospitality values and practices. Making little headway, I blunder forward, insisting that really bad diseases aside, the human race would suffer no turmoil, tragedy, or terror if we all acted hospitably to each other—on a national and personal level. Usually at this point, one of two reactions occurs: a snicker or a retort about natural disasters causing problems.* Fine, I’ll add that to my assertion: Except for really bad diseases and natural disasters, the human race would live blissfully if it lived hospitably. Now, I’m left with only the snickerers.
They’re a tough bunch. They’re the 1) Machiavellis, 2) Hobbeses, 3) Miltons, 4) Millses or 5) Augustines. They assert that left without powerful restraining mechanisms, mankind would annihilate itself because human nature is 1) aggressive, 2) ruled by fear of death, 3) overreaching, 4) mediocre, or 5) weak.
Let me grant all of their pessimistic views of mankind. Unlike Plato, I’m willing to assume that human nature is innately and critically flawed. Then what? Where do we go from that position? 1) We can build up our fortresses. 2) We can relinquish our power and freedom to a single protector. 3) We can accept mortality as our punishment for hubris. 4) We can build up our government systems. 5) We can embrace suffering as our salvation.
Or we could strive to act decently to each other. We need to be inspired to overcome our flawed human nature. Enter Jacques Derrida.
You can’t research hospitality for long without reading acknowledgments to Derrida. Rosello interprets his stand on hospitality for us: “Pure, unconditional or infinite hospitality cannot and must not be anything else but an acceptance of risk. If I am sure that the newcomer that I welcome is perfectly harmless, innocent, that (s)he will be beneficial to me…it is not hospitality. When I open my door, I must be ready to take the greatest of risks” (11-12). I've read some Derrida and, in fact, I once heard him speak. From what I read, heard, and saw, he seemed genuinely sincere, playful, and lovely. I know that his own character shouldn't determine how seriously I adopt his ethics. But I often recall with fondness how delightful he seemed. And, maybe it's shallow, but that inspires me.
For me, Derrida poses the challenge of hospitality. As a host, am I not allowed any expectations of my guests? Realistically, aren't my guests obligated to treat me with respect in return for my generosity? Or, as Derrida believes, is being hospitable a demonstration of unconditional acceptance? At this point in my research, this is my dilemma: I want to be a Derrida, but I don't want to be a doormat.
But I don’t want to be a doormat.
Well…I’ll keep researching, thinking, writing, and trying to practice hospitality with more magnanimity and less intolerance.
*Recently, a colleague in the biology department corrected me that hospitable behavior would eliminate many “really bad diseases.”
Rosello, Mireille. Postcolonial Hospitality: The Immigrant as Guest. Stanford, California: 2001.
Derrida 1999b, 137 “Debate: One Hospitality Without Condition.”
Sunday, April 4, 2010
My Top Ten Tips for Being a Good Guest (Hospitality Congeniality)
Perhaps I was too frank when I explained to you, my students, that I hesitate hosting another end-of-the-semester social because I sometimes get my feelings hurt. That’s not something professors should admit, I imagine, which is the essence of the problem. When I’m your host, I’m obligated to follow a different set of rules than in the classroom, starting with it’s rude for a host to inform guests that they’re being rude. No way around it. Revealing that dilemma to some of you last week sparked a few examples of how your mothers handle this situation and a few pleas that you would like to learn etiquette rules. Responding to your suggestions and requests, I give you My Top Ten Tips to Being a Good Guest.
1. RSVP. Not only does your RSVP trigger necessary considerations of food, drink, table setting, seating, etc., but your reservation also says that you respect your hosts' time. You recognize that your hosts are planning this event and hosting it to welcome those who are able and willing to attend. Sometimes, after you RSVP, your plans unavoidably change. Call your hosts and explain. But never, ever, bring along someone uninvited. No hosts like to greet an unexpected guest, wondering if he's some Raskol’nikov appearing at their door!
Rule number one: in hospitality code, the “R” in RSVP translates as respect.
2. Bring something to show your appreciation. You don’t have to spend any money as long as you don’t plunder the flowers on the hosts' porch. It’s fine to “go in” with others. Think Greek. Come with a gift to continue the reciprocity of being welcomed. (But leave home the wooden horse.) Bringing something says that you appreciate your hosts' efforts even before you've had a good time.
3. Be present in the moment. We think of our table as our altar. Picture yourself visiting a small chapel and you need to use your cell phone. You simply go outside or into a non-sacred area. Let me speak for myself. When I'm eating or conversing with someone who is texting, my first thought is how much more important that “conversation” must be than the one we were having in person. My second thought is that I too could find something more important to do with my time…and I’m about to! You see how this becomes an inhospitable mental script really fast? If that’s not the motivation you need, consider this experiment: A bunch of four year olds each faced one marshmallow on the table in front of him or her. The group of 4 year olds was told that each could either devour their one marshmallow or wait a short time and receive two. Here’s what happened: 1/3 snatched their marshmallows; 1/3 tried to wait but gave in; and 1/3 waited 15 minutes and were rewarded with a second marshmallow. Fourteen years later, the 1/3 gratification-delayers scored an average of 210 points higher on their SATs than the others. (David Shenk, The Genius in All of Us, 113-114). For the sake of your future successes, learn to let that cell phone wait.
4. Monitor your conversation so as not to offend. Unless you’re making fun of yourself, lay off the jokes, sarcasm, and innuendo. You don’t have to read much of The Niebelungenlied, Beowulf, or the Odyssey to figure out how quickly flyting can deteriorate to insult.
5. Respect the food. Let me begin with one prescription. If you can’t eat certain foods, alert your hosts when you RSVP. Something like…”You might want to know that I’m allergic to caviar.” “My religion (or other ideology) doesn’t allow me to eat ____________.” Don’t be shy. Your notification actually assists the menu planning and avoids embarrassment. Now, on to the proscriptions. If you know you’re not going to like a food item served, don’t take it. If it’s placed on your plate, you don’t have to eat it just to be polite. But whatever you do, don’t voice your objection. If you’re not sure, take only a little. By all means, experiment. After all, if you like it, there might be more! On the other hand, don’t graze the buffet table as if you’re at a mead-hall or you’re an Ithacan suitor. Finally, don’t ask for the leftovers. Remember old Mr. Carmichael who harmlessly asked for more soup, irritating Mr. Ramsay who annoyed Mrs. Ramsay? It would have been different if she’d offered him a second helping. So if you’re offered, take a reasonable amount, leaving some for others to take home. In short, the food—whether to your liking or not—is a gift from the hosts to you.
6. Volunteer to help. Maybe you can take coats to another room, clear the table, serve drinks, or monitor the music. Just ask. As one of your hosts, I confess that I tend toward the Mrs. Ramsay trap of micro-managing a gathering. But as The Qur' an guides us, confession without atonement matters little. That's why, last semester--some of my hubris aside--I recruited student helpers. This semester, I will contine to recruit. But even if I don't recruit you, please, still offer to help. Your generosity will be appreciated. Further, I promise to relax and enjoy myself so that you can also. Epicureanism, here I come!
7. Respect the cook. When the appetizers are cleared and the main course is served or secured (at a buffet), wait for the cook to sit down and begin the course. However, if the cook waives this privilege, feel free to dig in. The rule is simple: always wait unless directed otherwise. You’re the chorus, waiting for the choragus to lead you onward.
8. Dress appropriately. If your hosts are older, dress conservatively. Don't draw attention to yourself in a way that might make someone uncomfortable. Your hosts and the other guests don’t need to worry if you’re going to reveal yourself—front or back--when you bend over. Nor do they need to take up a collection so that you can afford to mend your tears and holes. You get the idea. I know very well that you might be accusing me, in particular, of being an Arsinoé—a moralistic older woman who’s more jealous than contemptuous of youth. Maybe so. But Moliere includes her in his play because she is a type, that is, she exists. We all know her. And if she’s your host, it’s best not to aggravate her.
9. Enjoy yourself. Some guests are a bit nervous--for whatever reason. If you're such a guest, your hosts counsel you to picture yourself enjoying yourself: As you walk through the tended yard and onto the flowered front porch into the cleaned house that smells of hours of cooking, be assured that everyone inside will be on his or her best behavior. Even though you may be a bit shy, tell yourself that you're going to have a great time. Your hosts and their guests promise that we're not the De Laceys and you're certainly no monster. Come on in, introduce yourself to the students you don't know, mingle, eat, eat some more, and celebrate the end of the semester. You deserve it!
10. Be grateful.
10A. Compliment the host and cook. Give one compliment. It can be about the house, the yard, the food, etc. It just needs to reflect that you noticed some effort afforded to you. Here’s a non-example. “I just love the street that you live on.” Great, but that doesn’t exude your appreciation for being invited, prepared for, and taken care of. Pick something that focuses on one of those aspects. My recent hospitality research makes me wonder if, with a little gratitude, Adam and Eve could have secured paradise--for them and us all.
10B. Follow-up with a thank-you. Think of The Qur’ an and Marcus Aurelius’s first chapter of Meditations. To be grateful is to be gracious. Not only does it please your host; it also distinguishes you. A thank you note is a must. If you can’t mail one, email one. It doesn’t have to be gushy, but it should be sincere. Without a thank-you, your host assumes that afterward, you never gave a passing thought to the effort extended to you. In her mind, you just ate and ran off. True, she won’t pursue you. But she might harbor an Ahab-like thought or two.
Basta!
I look forward to your next visit. Come hungry and enjoy!
1. RSVP. Not only does your RSVP trigger necessary considerations of food, drink, table setting, seating, etc., but your reservation also says that you respect your hosts' time. You recognize that your hosts are planning this event and hosting it to welcome those who are able and willing to attend. Sometimes, after you RSVP, your plans unavoidably change. Call your hosts and explain. But never, ever, bring along someone uninvited. No hosts like to greet an unexpected guest, wondering if he's some Raskol’nikov appearing at their door!
Rule number one: in hospitality code, the “R” in RSVP translates as respect.
2. Bring something to show your appreciation. You don’t have to spend any money as long as you don’t plunder the flowers on the hosts' porch. It’s fine to “go in” with others. Think Greek. Come with a gift to continue the reciprocity of being welcomed. (But leave home the wooden horse.) Bringing something says that you appreciate your hosts' efforts even before you've had a good time.
3. Be present in the moment. We think of our table as our altar. Picture yourself visiting a small chapel and you need to use your cell phone. You simply go outside or into a non-sacred area. Let me speak for myself. When I'm eating or conversing with someone who is texting, my first thought is how much more important that “conversation” must be than the one we were having in person. My second thought is that I too could find something more important to do with my time…and I’m about to! You see how this becomes an inhospitable mental script really fast? If that’s not the motivation you need, consider this experiment: A bunch of four year olds each faced one marshmallow on the table in front of him or her. The group of 4 year olds was told that each could either devour their one marshmallow or wait a short time and receive two. Here’s what happened: 1/3 snatched their marshmallows; 1/3 tried to wait but gave in; and 1/3 waited 15 minutes and were rewarded with a second marshmallow. Fourteen years later, the 1/3 gratification-delayers scored an average of 210 points higher on their SATs than the others. (David Shenk, The Genius in All of Us, 113-114). For the sake of your future successes, learn to let that cell phone wait.
4. Monitor your conversation so as not to offend. Unless you’re making fun of yourself, lay off the jokes, sarcasm, and innuendo. You don’t have to read much of The Niebelungenlied, Beowulf, or the Odyssey to figure out how quickly flyting can deteriorate to insult.
5. Respect the food. Let me begin with one prescription. If you can’t eat certain foods, alert your hosts when you RSVP. Something like…”You might want to know that I’m allergic to caviar.” “My religion (or other ideology) doesn’t allow me to eat ____________.” Don’t be shy. Your notification actually assists the menu planning and avoids embarrassment. Now, on to the proscriptions. If you know you’re not going to like a food item served, don’t take it. If it’s placed on your plate, you don’t have to eat it just to be polite. But whatever you do, don’t voice your objection. If you’re not sure, take only a little. By all means, experiment. After all, if you like it, there might be more! On the other hand, don’t graze the buffet table as if you’re at a mead-hall or you’re an Ithacan suitor. Finally, don’t ask for the leftovers. Remember old Mr. Carmichael who harmlessly asked for more soup, irritating Mr. Ramsay who annoyed Mrs. Ramsay? It would have been different if she’d offered him a second helping. So if you’re offered, take a reasonable amount, leaving some for others to take home. In short, the food—whether to your liking or not—is a gift from the hosts to you.
6. Volunteer to help. Maybe you can take coats to another room, clear the table, serve drinks, or monitor the music. Just ask. As one of your hosts, I confess that I tend toward the Mrs. Ramsay trap of micro-managing a gathering. But as The Qur' an guides us, confession without atonement matters little. That's why, last semester--some of my hubris aside--I recruited student helpers. This semester, I will contine to recruit. But even if I don't recruit you, please, still offer to help. Your generosity will be appreciated. Further, I promise to relax and enjoy myself so that you can also. Epicureanism, here I come!
7. Respect the cook. When the appetizers are cleared and the main course is served or secured (at a buffet), wait for the cook to sit down and begin the course. However, if the cook waives this privilege, feel free to dig in. The rule is simple: always wait unless directed otherwise. You’re the chorus, waiting for the choragus to lead you onward.
8. Dress appropriately. If your hosts are older, dress conservatively. Don't draw attention to yourself in a way that might make someone uncomfortable. Your hosts and the other guests don’t need to worry if you’re going to reveal yourself—front or back--when you bend over. Nor do they need to take up a collection so that you can afford to mend your tears and holes. You get the idea. I know very well that you might be accusing me, in particular, of being an Arsinoé—a moralistic older woman who’s more jealous than contemptuous of youth. Maybe so. But Moliere includes her in his play because she is a type, that is, she exists. We all know her. And if she’s your host, it’s best not to aggravate her.
9. Enjoy yourself. Some guests are a bit nervous--for whatever reason. If you're such a guest, your hosts counsel you to picture yourself enjoying yourself: As you walk through the tended yard and onto the flowered front porch into the cleaned house that smells of hours of cooking, be assured that everyone inside will be on his or her best behavior. Even though you may be a bit shy, tell yourself that you're going to have a great time. Your hosts and their guests promise that we're not the De Laceys and you're certainly no monster. Come on in, introduce yourself to the students you don't know, mingle, eat, eat some more, and celebrate the end of the semester. You deserve it!
10. Be grateful.
10A. Compliment the host and cook. Give one compliment. It can be about the house, the yard, the food, etc. It just needs to reflect that you noticed some effort afforded to you. Here’s a non-example. “I just love the street that you live on.” Great, but that doesn’t exude your appreciation for being invited, prepared for, and taken care of. Pick something that focuses on one of those aspects. My recent hospitality research makes me wonder if, with a little gratitude, Adam and Eve could have secured paradise--for them and us all.
10B. Follow-up with a thank-you. Think of The Qur’ an and Marcus Aurelius’s first chapter of Meditations. To be grateful is to be gracious. Not only does it please your host; it also distinguishes you. A thank you note is a must. If you can’t mail one, email one. It doesn’t have to be gushy, but it should be sincere. Without a thank-you, your host assumes that afterward, you never gave a passing thought to the effort extended to you. In her mind, you just ate and ran off. True, she won’t pursue you. But she might harbor an Ahab-like thought or two.
Basta!
I look forward to your next visit. Come hungry and enjoy!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Chile Rellenos with a Turkish flair (Hospitality EVENTuality)
After an awesome meal of chile rellenos at my step-daughter's apartment, I decided to revisit this Texan favorite, attempting to remove it from my kitchen disaster file. Searching the internet, I found a recipe, courtesy of Ann Hazard, which I adapted because I wanted meat. Unfortunately, I had no ground beef in the house (scandalous!), but I had lamb patties. Hence, the reason for the substitution. I'm breaking this recipe's steps into 2 categories: 1-2 days before and pre-eating. The proportions depend on how meaty, cheesy, or beany you prefer.
1-2 days before:1. Making the filling...
Sauté some chopped green or white onions. Remove from the pan.
In the same pan, cook your ground lamb.
Add onions back in and some refried beans to lamb. Cook on low until warm.
Refrigerate to cool.
2. Charring the peppers...
Coat the poblano peppers with oil, place on a sprayed rack on a sprayed baking sheet, and broil until charred all around (turning). Don't chicken out. Get 'em scorched.
Remove from oven with tongs and plop into a paper bag. Roll up to seal for 15-30 mins.
Remove from the bag and peal off the skins.
If there's a puncture from the broiling, use that place to cut from below the stem to the narrow end. If not, pick a spot and slice.
Leaving on the stem (for presentation), remove the seeds and membranes unless you're a fiery guy.
3. Stuffing the peppers...
Nestle a wedge of some variety of Mexican cheese in each pepper. Don't use shredded cheese. This is the secret to sealing the pepper and keeping it closed during the frying.
Pack the remaining area with the filling.
Close and suture with toothpicks, driven through the wedge.
Refrigerate.
Pre-eating:
4. Concocting the coating...
Separate 3 eggs--> whites & yolks.
Whip the whites until stiff.
With a fork, combine the yolks. Add 1 TBL. flour and a pinch of salt.
Fold the yolks into the whites. Be gentle. You'll have an opportunity in a minute for an aggression release.
Roll each pepper in flour and then cake in the egg mixture. You must be a stern disciplinarian, forcing the egg mix to play well with the flour coating the pepper. That sad, just do your best to slather as much on as you can.
5. Frying your masterpiece...
Heat peanut oil--enough to cover the bottom half of the peppers. Peanut oil is the best because it withstands high heat. That means less smoke in your hacienda!
Fry the peppers until golden, turning once.
Remove and place on that sprayed rack on baking sheet. You can keep warm in a low oven if you need an hour.
6. Spicing it up with the Salsa...
Make your own (tomatoes, garlic, salt, avocado, onions...) or use store-bought.
Serve with rice and the salsa.
The recipe that inspired my variations is posted on http://www.mexgrocer.com/534-killer-chiles-rellenos.html.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
"Busy" (Hospitality Fatality)
I’m tempted to post a sign on my office door: “This office does not support the use of the word ‘busy.’”
First, let me explain the subject and verb. A few years ago, I received email responses from Institutional Computing personnel that began with, “This office does not support the use of…” It struck me as a diplomatic but also, officious strategy for saying, “We won’t allow…”
Now, to the crux of this hospitality rant. When did the world stop realizing that the question “How are you?” is only phatic conversation and not a sincere query? When did the world begin to respond in detail, prefacing lengthy explanations with, “I’m so busy…”? or worse…”I’m too busy.”? What are the inhospitable subtexts of this seemingly innocent assertion of being "busy"?
Inhospitality subtext #1: "I'm far busier than you are." But how could said “I” be busier than Hospitality Morality--the vanguard of global hospitality? And even if said "I" is the leader of the free(ish) world, is it polite to brag, sigh, or rant about it? Being busy is like being sick. Rarely does anyone else care.
Inhospitality subtext #2: "I'm more important than you. Honestly, we all know that “busy,” is code for “important.” “I’m so busy” is a thinly disguised taunt of "I’m so important,” which doubles as a challenge.
Faithful readers, it is our duty to counter these inhospitable attacks with a lesson: nothing is more important than the work of hospitality morality. Consider that every human encounter and relationship--public and private--revolves around the reward, power, intrigue, protection, and risk of hospitality. Every single face-to-face; voice-to-voice; and even, text-to-text hinges on hospitality. And if we are hospitable, we are peaceful, generous, curious, tolerant, and charitable. In short, if everyone acted hospitably, we would eliminate all major problems—aggression, hunger, homelessness, global warming, ennui, and prejudices—with the possible exception of really bad diseases. As such, we can imagine no nobler calling than to investigate, understand, and practice hospitality. Let us go forth and educate the "busy."
Henceforth, please, be advised that in all future conversations, HM does not support the use of the word “busy.”
Look for an upcoming Hospitality Fatality on "I'm so stressed."
First, let me explain the subject and verb. A few years ago, I received email responses from Institutional Computing personnel that began with, “This office does not support the use of…” It struck me as a diplomatic but also, officious strategy for saying, “We won’t allow…”
Now, to the crux of this hospitality rant. When did the world stop realizing that the question “How are you?” is only phatic conversation and not a sincere query? When did the world begin to respond in detail, prefacing lengthy explanations with, “I’m so busy…”? or worse…”I’m too busy.”? What are the inhospitable subtexts of this seemingly innocent assertion of being "busy"?
Inhospitality subtext #1: "I'm far busier than you are." But how could said “I” be busier than Hospitality Morality--the vanguard of global hospitality? And even if said "I" is the leader of the free(ish) world, is it polite to brag, sigh, or rant about it? Being busy is like being sick. Rarely does anyone else care.
Inhospitality subtext #2: "I'm more important than you. Honestly, we all know that “busy,” is code for “important.” “I’m so busy” is a thinly disguised taunt of "I’m so important,” which doubles as a challenge.
Faithful readers, it is our duty to counter these inhospitable attacks with a lesson: nothing is more important than the work of hospitality morality. Consider that every human encounter and relationship--public and private--revolves around the reward, power, intrigue, protection, and risk of hospitality. Every single face-to-face; voice-to-voice; and even, text-to-text hinges on hospitality. And if we are hospitable, we are peaceful, generous, curious, tolerant, and charitable. In short, if everyone acted hospitably, we would eliminate all major problems—aggression, hunger, homelessness, global warming, ennui, and prejudices—with the possible exception of really bad diseases. As such, we can imagine no nobler calling than to investigate, understand, and practice hospitality. Let us go forth and educate the "busy."
Henceforth, please, be advised that in all future conversations, HM does not support the use of the word “busy.”
Look for an upcoming Hospitality Fatality on "I'm so stressed."
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Trader Joe's Vegetable Bird's Nests (Hospitality Triviality)
My sister Mel left me a voicemail message that began, "You'd better blog it...freakin' vegetable bird's nests at Trader Joe's." She claims (and she's always right about stuff like this) that these "bird's nests" are easy to serve, nutritious, and "succulent." http://www.menupause.info/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/Veg.jp
Now, I'm not disputing my sister's contention that they're nutritious; but face it, if you fry (not bake) these julienned veggies that are already covered in tempura batter, you've added fat. But OMG, that sounds delish. Up to you, of course.
HM would love your feedback on this matter. Let me know if you've tried them and liked them.
Oh, and word of warning. Evidently, these are hot TJ items that don't last long on the shelf.
Thanks, Mel!
PS If you'd like to read reviews of many brands of frozen food products, check out...
http://heateatreview.com/index.php?s=trader+joe%27s...
For those of you who need more convincing...
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/431458/review_of_trader_joes_vegetable_birds.htmlNow, I'm not disputing my sister's contention that they're nutritious; but face it, if you fry (not bake) these julienned veggies that are already covered in tempura batter, you've added fat. But OMG, that sounds delish. Up to you, of course.
HM would love your feedback on this matter. Let me know if you've tried them and liked them.
Oh, and word of warning. Evidently, these are hot TJ items that don't last long on the shelf.
Thanks, Mel!
PS If you'd like to read reviews of many brands of frozen food products, check out...
http://heateatreview.com/index.php?s=trader+joe%27s...
Monday, February 15, 2010
Readiness, Risk, and Hospitality Morality lessons from Amy G. Oden (Hospitality Congeniality)
In her book, And You Welcomed Me: A Sourcebook on Hospitality in Early Christianity, Amy Oden expands our understanding of hospitality to ethical and spiritual realms. Much like the work of Emmanuel Lévinas and Martin Buber, Oden notes that acting humanely extends beyond offers of beverage, food, and entertainment. Respect is the precondition for such offerings. My mother used to say, “If you can’t do it out of love, don’t do it at all.” We are reminded of Martin Luther’s insistence that proper faith must ground all proper action or no value and goodness is achieved. To respect another involves, according to Oden, as well as Lévinas and Buber, a “recasting of social relations” in order to “reframe social relations and engender welcome” (14). Oden turns to the early Christians to guide us toward a moral awareness of and commitment to hospitality: “Early Christian voices tell us again and again that whether we are guest or host we must be ready, ready to welcome, ready to enter another’s world, ready to be vulnerable. This readiness is expectant. It may be akin to moral nerve. It exudes trust, not so much that one will succeed in some measurable way, but that participation in hospitality and its consequences. At the same time, the readiness that opens into hospitality also leads to repentance” (15). This readiness can be painful because it requires hosts to authentically reconsider initial perspectives of both guests and hosts themselves. Oden calls this a “de-centering of perspective,” which results in both parties discovering “something new, approaching the edge of the unfamiliar and crossing” (15). In such cases, hosts focus on their guests, not themselves. Oden reflects, that although one may be entertaining at home, one longer feels “at home.” She cautions, “When we realize how we have inflated our own frame of reference and imposed it on all of reality, we know we have committed the sin of idolatry, of taking our own particular part and making it the whole.” Let’s stop here, leaving the early Christians behind for a moment, and personalize Oden’s premises. Google images:
http://www.onlineoriginals.com/showfile.asp?itemID=287&filetype=picture
http://www.onlineoriginals.com/showfile.asp?itemID=287&filetype=picture
I am trying to recall if I have ever hosted a gathering in which I privileged my readiness for (or is toward) my guests over my perspective—or, more honestly, over my ego. In the spirit of Augustine’s Confessions (which I’m teaching this week), I’ll illustrate. Thinking back...I was probably more concerned about the wow factor of serving hot homemade eggrolls (who does that) than the annoyance factor of high oil odor permeating the house for several days. I was probably more concerned about the wow factor of serving a chicken liver terrine than the likelihood that university students would rather have cheese dip. I was definitely more concerned with the wow factor of concocting one complicated dish after the next than releasing myself from the kitchen to take care of my guests.
[google images: http://lavistachurchofchrist.org/
/Pictures/StandardBibleStoryReadersBook5/images/scan0014-1.jpg]
Shame on me for forgetting what the ancient Greeks knew: being a host extends beyond personal ego and even beyond personal virtue to the realm of the gods. We know that as wayfarers, the Greeks relied on Zeus’ protection when visiting and being visited. They never knew if the knock on the door signaled a “theoxenia,” a divine visitation (18). I teach the xenios code in my first semester classes. This code required Greek hosts to welcome strangers, offering them food, drink, shelter, entertainment, and ablutions—without any assurance that the stranger was important or able to reciprocate. So too, the Hebrews valued hospitality. Oden recalls when Abraham welcomes strangers at Mamre, Rahab welcomes spies, and when Zarephath’s widow welcomes the prophet (17). The Romans also prized a moral sense of hospitality related to the gods. Even Ovid’s Metamorphoses takes a break in its serial stories of the gods’ raping and rampaging to inspire readers with the Roman duty of hospitality with its Philemon and Baucis story. Beyond narrative, the Roman legislated hospitality with their “jus hospitii, or law of hospitality," which distinguished seven different hospitality relationships (18).
Adopting such a Greek, Hebrew, and Roman ethical stance toward hospitality, Oden warns that “[t]he success of hospitality, however, does not depend on end results. Rather, the success of hospitality is measured by the degree to which one offers one’s genuine presence with another, to fully enter another’s world and dwell with another” (109). We have returned full cycle.
So take a risk and nix your ego, all you fellow hosts. Embrace your guests, not just with a friendly Sedaris “I Like You” reception but with “zeal and full of life, with readiness” (Oden 117) Treat your guests like Philemon and Baucis did, offering more than what you can afford to give, not just of your resources but of yourself. Let go of preconceptions about your guests and yourself. Afford your guests the hospitality to feel “at home” but not yourself. You, as host, should be off balance—not sure of yourself, not attending to yourself, and ultimately, not aware of yourself. With readiness, embrace hospitality morality. [google images
Oden, Amy G., Ed. And You Welcomed Me: A Sourcebook on Hospitality in Early Christianity. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2001.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Personal Identity, Reciprocity, and Hospitality Morality Lessons from Tracy McNulty (Hospitality Congeniality)
In The Hostess: Hospitality, Femininity, and the Expropriation of Identity, Tracy McNulty educates us that the word “hospitality” connotes both reciprocity* and “personal identity”** (ix). Doesn’t that present the essential dilemmas of hospitality? As a host, how can I be true to myself but authentically embrace true reciprocity in the spirit of Oden’s “readiness” (see Oden blog)? Beyond hospitality concerns, isn’t that the critical dilemma of literature, politics, education, relationships, and economics? That is, isn’t this hospitality dilemma between being an “I” and relating to a “you” the essential human struggle. McNulty agrees: “The problem of hospitality is coextensive with the development of Western civilization, occupying an essential place in virtually every religion and defining the most elementary of social relations: reciprocity, exogamy, potlatch, ‘brotherly love,’ nationhood. … “ (vii). Where once, hospitality was relegated to the decrees of the gods and hosts were forbidden to profit, today, hospitality is reduced to the “so-called hospitality industry (tourism) and a social and political discourse of parasitism, in which the stranger is construed as a hostile invader of the host nation or group” (viii). Has this exchange of divine order for economic exchange improved hospitality or has it, as McNulty insists, replaced authentic human interactions with “the irrational side of our relation to the stranger—fear, anxiety, and hatred—[which] seems to grow ever more virulent” (viii)?
Again, we are faced with ethic’s grasp on hospitality, which McNulty contends is even more controlling. All nostalgia for the “social harmony” of Philemon and Baucis aside, McNulty wonders, as does HospitalityMorality, if we realize that hospitality--as the most fundamental of ethical issues--can address and resolve the tensions “between unnamable alterity and legal identity, between infinite debt and economics, between ethics and ontology” (viii). This brings us back to our linguistic lesson of the double meaning of “hospitality.” First, although hospitality directs us out to another, it also calls us draws us in to our own self-estrangement. Often, this is uncomfortable—even, painful and frightening. McNulty explains why: “Hence it both allows for the constitution of identity and challenges it, by suggesting that the home can also become unhomely, unheimlich, estranged by the introduction of something foreign that threatens to contaminate or dissolve its identity” (vii).
HM asks how, in such cases of demanding or demeaning guestshosts can establish harmony--not only between guest and host but also between reciprocity and identity. If HM had that answer, its work would be concluded. At this point, all HM knows is that for such occasions, hosts and guests need etiquette rules, which serve as a kind of “potent symbolic structure to account for and valorize the risk the host assumes in welcoming a stranger” (52). So for the time being, as HM wades through the morality of hospitality, it bows to etiquette guides.
*I have put on my research list the potlatch practices of native North Americans, “a system of ever-escalating gifts and counter-gifts that binds parties together in mutual ties of obligation and is the very foundation of social and religious life” (x-xi). McNulty explains further that in the Native American “potlatch” tradition “the giver gains in social prestige what he loses in material goods. The more the master gives, the more he has: because his prestations will eventually be reciprocated by others, but more importantly because his prestige accrues in the act of giving” (xx). Definitely something worth researching.
McNulty, Tracy. The Hostess: Hospitality, Femininity, and the Expropriation of Identity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007.
Again, we are faced with ethic’s grasp on hospitality, which McNulty contends is even more controlling. All nostalgia for the “social harmony” of Philemon and Baucis aside, McNulty wonders, as does HospitalityMorality, if we realize that hospitality--as the most fundamental of ethical issues--can address and resolve the tensions “between unnamable alterity and legal identity, between infinite debt and economics, between ethics and ontology” (viii). This brings us back to our linguistic lesson of the double meaning of “hospitality.” First, although hospitality directs us out to another, it also calls us draws us in to our own self-estrangement. Often, this is uncomfortable—even, painful and frightening. McNulty explains why: “Hence it both allows for the constitution of identity and challenges it, by suggesting that the home can also become unhomely, unheimlich, estranged by the introduction of something foreign that threatens to contaminate or dissolve its identity” (vii).
http://records.viu.ca/~lanes/english/engl200/lear_cor.jpg
I take McNulty’s point. I know that feeling when, as a host, the stranger entering my home threatens to belittle or devalue who I am. Like the guest who called me a liar at dinner. Like the guest who racialized female attractiveness. Like the guest who spews homophobia. I’ll stop because you get my point, and I'm straying from good thoughts of hospitality. Suffice to say that on these occassions, I was more than uncomfortable. I felt threatened. McNulty exemplifies simlilar threats when she retreats to the myths of Western literature: Agamemnon, Gloucester, and King Lear--all threatened sovereigns. All nobility aside, I return to my threatening guests who challenge me to withdrawn and repose into that “right reason” state that Marcus Aurelius exhorts—that mental place where I reexamine who I am and how I will treat others. So beyond these guests’ contaminations, the real threat is a hard look in the mirror at my own participation in such rudeness and prejudice. This takes care of one criteria for hospitality: identity.
http://ovationtv.com/files/large_image_videos/0000/0240/virginia_woolf_372x280.jpg
As for the other criteria—reciprocity—the dilemma that McNulty and HospitalityMorality see is how to “welcome the foreigner without denying his foreignness” (48). To accomplish this authenticity, the foreigner must feel at home and the host must feel displaces. HM addressed this very issue in its Oden blog. McNulty clarifies: "The ethics of hospitality…involves not only welcoming the familiar into the home, but calling the home into question: experiencing the dispossession of the chez soi, and through it the identity of the host” (xx). Think of that scene in Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse when Mrs. Ramsey is serving dinner and one of her guests upsets the timing of her boeuf en daube entrance onto the table by asking for a second helping of soup. Of course, to someone who hasn’t hosted a tricky-timed meal, his request seems trivial and her agitation seems ridiculous. HM can easily argue that neither is the case. However, for this discussion, let’s grant those two positions--he's innocent and she's overreacting. What’s important to HM's investigations of hospitality morality is that Mrs. Ramsey abides his request—knowing that she risks ruining the entrée for all her guests. Further, if you don’t think that she is no longer at home in her home (and for good reason), then HM suggests you squeamishly mistime the presentation of a piece of medium rare beef with a dozen critics at your table.
HM asks how, in such cases of demanding or demeaning guestshosts can establish harmony--not only between guest and host but also between reciprocity and identity. If HM had that answer, its work would be concluded. At this point, all HM knows is that for such occasions, hosts and guests need etiquette rules, which serve as a kind of “potent symbolic structure to account for and valorize the risk the host assumes in welcoming a stranger” (52). So for the time being, as HM wades through the morality of hospitality, it bows to etiquette guides.
*I have put on my research list the potlatch practices of native North Americans, “a system of ever-escalating gifts and counter-gifts that binds parties together in mutual ties of obligation and is the very foundation of social and religious life” (x-xi). McNulty explains further that in the Native American “potlatch” tradition “the giver gains in social prestige what he loses in material goods. The more the master gives, the more he has: because his prestations will eventually be reciprocated by others, but more importantly because his prestige accrues in the act of giving” (xx). Definitely something worth researching.
http://www.ankn.uaf.edu/Curriculum/Tlingit/FishCamp/images/bigc-52.gif
**McNulty reminds us that the Roman notion of personhood, “persona,” meant mask, specifically, the mask displayed in the house of an ancestor (xxx). McNulty, Tracy. The Hostess: Hospitality, Femininity, and the Expropriation of Identity. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007.
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"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." - from A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf