Hospitality Defined: Move over Amy Sedaris (Hospitality Congeniality)

  In  her book, I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence, Amy Sedaris begins with a welcoming opening letter to “[your name here].” The tone is personal and friendly as is the message. Unfortunately, Amy, I couldn’t disagree more with your philosophy of hospitality. Let’s take this one sentence at a time.*
#1: “Whether you live in a basement with the income of a ten-year-old girl or on a saffron farm in the south of Spain, the spirit of hospitality is the same.”  First, in what fantasy world does economics not impact hospitality?  While expensive caviar doesn't guarantee hospitality, stone soup kills hospitality every time.  Second, how exactly is the “spirit” of hospitality common no matter the culture? My travels have indicated the opposite. While the spirit of Irish hospitality is friendliness, the spirit of Turkish hospitality is curiosity. While the hospitality spirit in Germany is generosity, in England it’s wittiness. In fact, that’s one of the difficulties of travelling—trying to discern the national or regional spirit of hospitality. For example, you’re wasting your time smiling at the Germans in Dusseldorf. Better to accept the room upgrade with seriousness politeness. That example illustrates that the “spirit” of hospitality is often linked to the “face,” of hospitality, which changes even within countries. Travel to any Mediterranean country and you’ll likely experience a different face of hospitality along the coasts than deeper in the mainland. If you don’t believe me, compare your experiences in Venice with Rome (which is considered a Mediterranean city by most travel agencies).
#2: “It’s the giving of yourself, a present of you to them from me for us.” Expecting hospitality to be personal misses the beauty and practicality of hospitality. It’s not personal. It’s a cultural code. Why is that so important to grasp? Because cultural codes, like myths, are the great levelers of all things unequal—one’s economics, religion, gender, age, personality, appearance, etc. When my German host constantly scans the table to see if glasses aren’t empty and no one is excluded from the conversation, it likely has nothing to do with his feelings for me personally. Don’t fret. That’s reassuring. For no matter that I'm a miscreant ringing the doorbell, the code welcomes me and guides me toward collegial behavior crossing the threshold. And no matter what Byronic hero I'm stuck inviting, I must defer to hospitality codes.  Whereas if you're relying on my false friendliness, I'm likely to slip up, sneering, "Get over yourself."  If you're not convinced that in every case, hospitality triumphs over friendship, I have one word for you--"family." When we are hospitable to our family, it’s because the family hospitality code dictates our actions. It’s certainly not because we’re going to end the evening holding hands and singing “Kumbaya.”
#3-#4: ‘Hello, and I like you.’ This is what you’re saying when you invite somebody into your home, without having to hear yourself say it out loud.” Again, it’s not personal. I don’t have to like you when I treat you hospitably. Frankly, most of the time, I don’t. That’s why I’m inviting you, [your name here], to think of hospitality not as friendliness but according to the second Merriam-Webster definition of “congeniality”: “existing or associated together harmoniously.” As someone once said, "“Hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even though you wish they were.” Of course, this brings to mind Kant’s categorical imperative and subsequent maxims. For Kant, as you well know, laws (codes) must be applicable to and enforceable by all. (Feel free to write me if you're eager to talk Kant more extensively. But for now, I should probably stay on track.) My point is that hospitality codes through the ages have existed so that different and even unfriendly people can co-exist in relative peace whereas relying on friendship has often led to anomie. If you don't believe me, read Arthurian legends.
I am embarking on a research project that will help us understand variations of hospitality codes—from the ancient world to the postmodern world and from the East to the West. Until then, I’ve begun with Amy and I promise to give her outlook a fair chance.
So to recap…think of hospitality more like congeniality than geniality. Or to put it more concretely...Your partner announces a dinner invite from his homophobic boss. When you arrive, do you really want to rely on your host immediately liking you? Or wouldn’t you feel more secure if your host just kept it impersonally hospitable? Hospitality Morality may not like you, but it promises its guests that for every feast, it will keep the peace.
*The more you read Sedaris's book, the more you suspect, then, realize that it's tongue-in-cheek.  However, you wouldn't realize that when you're reading the opening letters to her narratees.  I say, she wrote it and it's fair game for the serious critical review that Hospitality Morality always promises to deliver.
Special thanks to EatsMeatsWest.blogspot.com for the Amy Sedaris book recommendation.
Sedaris, Amy.  I Like You: Hospitailty Under the Influence.  New York: Warner Books, 2006.

Reclining Whining (Hospitality Fatality)

    I always seem to sit behind the airline passenger who reclines the seat into my lap. I'm not talking about a gentle 15 degree recline. I'm talking about a barcalounger-footrest-extended 60 degree recline. As far back as the seat will go. And then, there are the barbarians who add random jostling to insure that I lose even more comfort space. Is there anyone reading this who can explain to me how this, albeit airline-licensed, practice is hospitable? I'm willing to be educated. Or better yet, let's change places and I'll fly in your lap.

The Authoritarian Vegetarian (Hospitality Fatality)

  I'll keep my first "Hospitality Fatality" rant short.  I must be dense because I don't understand why being a vegetarian constitutes grounds for canonization.  You know what I'm talking about--the occasional eating companion who pompously declares, "I'm a vegetarian" as if the rest of us are cannibals.  Exactly what is so magnanimous about not eating meat and seafood? I want to reply, "Well, good for you. Chomp on them veggies." I'm not irked at all vegetarians, just those self-righteous ones who think it's somehow sanctimonious to bypass tortellini with truffles (where, exactly is the meat in that?) for a bowl of lettuce, shredded carrots, and sliced cucumbers sans dressing. Let's face it. We have no clue if and who washed those veggies. Quite possibly, my succulent tortellini is the healthier order. (At least that's what I'm telling myself.)  But despite my frustration, I promise to avoid the temptation to retort, "I'm a carnivore."  I do so swear, with you as my witness, to abide by hospitality morality codes.  Until then, I just want to say, "Come on, let's just order, eat, and get over ourselves." Enough said.

Germany (Hospitality Nationality)

Munster's St. Lambert's church.  Can you see the cages in which they murdered 3 Anabaptists by exposing and starving them?  Thankfully, modern Munsterians have altered their alterity issues.

I’ll stand by this statement despite one of my student’s dismay: The Germans are an hospitable people. I didn’t say that they wre friendly folk. No, you won’t see many people walking about smiling, joking, or laughing. But when it comes to hospitality, they get an “A” from this professor. Let me relate a few anecdotes.

Go to any beer house, order a beer, drink that beer, and watch it magically appear re-filled. You don’t have to ask but you can refuse. Nobody seems to care either way. And at said beer house, you’ll sit and eat “family-style.” One night, we ate with two guys on business from Romania who were revisiting the restaurant, intent on reordering their previous entre. With one “English menu” and one English-German dictionary among the four of us, it was clear that the Americans sought far more control over their ordering than the Romanians who repeatedly shrugged, laughed, and happily resigned themselves to whatever came to the table. We offered each other samples from our plates and swapped travel stories. We laughed, we drank, and we chatted for an hour or so. Although you might contend that this hardly supports my declaration that the Germans are an hospitable people, it sure seemed that way at the time as every other table I could see was having the same kind of light-hearted experience. Even in an Alsatian bistro, you’d likely not find such a jovial mood permeating a restaurant.

This is my husband's pork chop, roasted potatoes, and lima beans meal.

Walk in a shop and you’ll be greeted with “Good Day.” You’ll be asked if you need help. You’ll be allowed to browse until you’re ready to buy or leave. No pressure. No hassle. Leave the shop and you’ll hear, “Good Day” again. You'll likely not see any smiles accompany these greetings.  But you'll likely experience a pronounced sense of civility and courtesy. Many countries practice such a pair of shop greetings.  However, often there's an erosion of hospitaity in the attitude.  Who hasn't suffered the typical French practice of having their pronunciation corrected when you return their greeting?

This is my pork leg and mashed potatoes meal.  You couldn't ask for better.

We took buses in Munster. On our first trip, our bus driver figured out that we wanted to come back via the bus but couldn’t figure out if we wanted a round-trip or all-day pass. We couldn’t figure out what she was trying to figure out. Well, when she requested more money than I expected, I figured we’d gotten more than a round-trip ticket. One bus stop later, the bus driver started waving an open cell phone at us, gesturing that we should talk into it. Now, just who could be calling us…on a bus…in Munster, Germany? No one. She had called to find someone who spoke English so that we would be sure to know that she sold us an all-day pass. Even the Irish, some of the friendliest folk I’ve ever met, wouldn’t do that.

Here's Munster on a sunny winter day.

My last bus driver took a different hospitality tack. Refusing to accept my coins into his hand, he barked that I should deposit them on the silver tray. Then, he barked that I shouldn’t take the ticket from his hand, pointing again, to the silver tray. I must have looked angry, and I was because his attitude seemed unnecessary. So he explained the rationale for his instance on the silver tray. It’s so that each party can view the transactions—the coins and the ticket. I admitted (to myself) that that made sense. Plunked down in my seat, riding into town, I thought about how hospitality isn’t strictly about friendliness but more accurately about a script that allows different peoples and cultures to communicate without offense and with confidence. I intended to get off at the Domplatz, which was one stop past the Prinzipalmarkt on my way home. So I let the Prinzipalmarkt stop pass me by…but no Domplatz. After a while, I was at the train station, then, out of the city and striding into residential, then, farm areas. Well, I figured that I had an all-day pass and nothing else to do, so I’d just sit on the bus until it looped back. Confidently enjoying my sojourn, I was suddenly faced with my bus driver who announced that we’d arrived at the end of the line and that I’d have to get off. Where, exactly, he wanted to know, was I hoping to go. In the interest of time and saving a bit of face, I replied that I was enjoying seeing where people lived until I went to the outdoor market by the cathedral. No matter. It was still the end of the line and exile awaited me. I got up, got out, and stood outside the bus…as did he, announcing that he had to use the toilet and would be back to drive the route backwards. At that point, I realized that he was a bit embarrassed. Of course, I waited for him, assuring him that I’d protect his bus. He actually smiled. When he returned, I asked him to point out our location on the big map plastered on the side of the bus. For 5 minutes, he tried to find the #14 bus line. Not only couldn’t he find that line, but he had no idea where we were. He knew only the route, not the city. I asked him if we were lost. He actually laughed. Back on the bus, we began to chat. He asked me questions about why I was in Munster and why I’d come not knowing any German. He told me where I needed to get off the bus. I figured that there wasn’t much point in convincing him that I knew the stop, given my hour-plus detour. Tentatively, I asked him questions about how long he’d been in Munster, why he left Ghana, and if he thought of himself as African or European. We conversed sans any gruffness on his part and any defensiveness on mine. This went on just until another passenger arrived. Then, it was back to being Mr. Bus #14 Driver. But when we finally approached Domplatz, I saw his eyes lift to the mirror, checking if I was getting off for the outdoor market. Approaching the exit behind me, I heard him say, “Good-bye” in an accent I gathered came from his roots in Ghana. What I thought just then and have been considering since is the difference between hospitality and friendliness. If I had to count on one of those, I’d prefer hospitality--even with all its rules and nuances. Hospitality is, I discovered, the script for the shy and the unfriendly alike.

Here's "flat Stanley" at the Dom outdoor market. 

At the university, my husband and I were both struck by the hospitality between students and professors. Each makes and grants requests with openness and respect. In one sense, their relationships seem more relaxed than their US counterparts; in another sense, their relationships seem more professional. They drink together but don’t joke together. They exhibit a reciprocity of duties and favors much like the fealty code but without the flyting. They seem less personal but more civil than most US professor-student relationships that I’ve experienced. They seem less friendly but more sincerely hospitable.

This ends my tribute to German hospitality. Feel free to weigh in on your experiences.
Prost!

Last Night's Request #2 Lasagna (Hospitality EVENTuality)

When the next Christmas guests were spending their last night, they requested lasagna.  This is tricky because my husband, who is my #1 favorite and most appreciative person to cook for, does not like Italian food--even my kickass lasagna.  Well, hospitality dictates a bow to the guests....

I found a bargain of a gigantic lasagna pan at TJ Maxx and doubled my recipe.  Below, you'll find the original directions and quantities.  All I can say is, definitely, buy the oven-ready lasagna noodles.  Separating steaming hot noodles has always been the part I hated, so that's now a thing of the past.  With the noodle task eliminated, you should think of the recipe in just 2 components: the sauce and the cheese mix.  Think of the sauce as browning whatever meat (or veggies) you use and building in the tomatoes and herbs.  Think of the cheese mix as a big-bowled compilation. 

With an amazing, layered stratification of noodles, sauce, and cheese goop, I proudly surveyed my lasagna before oven entry.  Then, I remembered that one of the departing
guests wanted spinach added.  Again, bowing to hospitality, I cooked spinach and packed it into the layers around the edges.  At the table, I announced that if you wanted spinach, you should stick to the 4 sides. 

This huge pan, although well-appreciated--produced a serious quantity of leftovers.  Remember, my husband ain't no lasagna fan, so I was a bit freaked.  But my departing and staying guests helped me out, graciously gobbling one and two helpings at breakfast before they departed.  I can't imagine their bellies on that plan trip home.  Nonetheless, they provided a typical lesson in guest-host reciprocity just like the xenios relationships among the ancient Greeks!

Here's the lasagna recipe...

oven-ready (no-bake) lasagna noodles

For the sauce
1) cook...
1# ground beef (baked & dice slices of eggplant
6 ounces ground lean pork or Italian sausage
1 cup diced mushrooms (optional)
¾ cup chopped onion
1 clove garlic, minced
2) add...
1 can (1#) tomatoes
1 can (15 ounces) tomato sauce
2 TBL parsley flakes or Provence spices
2 TBL sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp basil leaves

For the cheese mixture, combine...
3 cups (2 12-ounce cartons) creamed cottage cheese or ricotta
1 TBL parsley flakes
1 ½ tsp salt
½ cup Parmesan cheese
1 Tsp dried oregano
1 cup cooked and drained spinach (optional)
¾ # mozzarella cheese, shredded


Put a bit of sauce on the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking.  Add a layer of noodles; next, some sauce;, and then, some cheese mix.  Back to noodles, sauce, and cheese mix. Noodles, sauce, and cheese mix.  Top with Parmesan cheese. Heat oven to 350 degrees.  
Bake uncovered 45 minutes. Allow an additional 10-15 minutes if lasagna has been refrigerated. For easier cutting, let stand 15 minutes after removing from the oven.  If desired, lasagna can be covered and refrigerated or frozen.

Last Night's Request #1: Egg Rolls (Hospitality EVENTuality)

As is typical of many family's Christmas holidays, people visited at different times, striving to be together for at least one day/night.  This year, for a hospitable send-off, the next guests to leave were invited to choose the menu (or meal item) for their final dinner.  (I don't mean to sound penal.) 

Unfortunately, the first guests to leave were already locked into a menu due to the make-ahead constraints of the lunch/open house day.  (See "A Moveable Feast" blog).  We had chicken marsala, which holds up surprisingly well after freezing.

  The second night, the request was for my egg rolls. With two primo assistants--manned with paper towels--this turned out to be the easiest batch I've ever made.  The recipe follows.  But first, a word about hospitality.  Letting guests request menu items was an impulsive gesture that I instantly (but not permanently) regretted.  You see, I had an entire notebook of recipes, divided into categories: already made and frozen, dead-set on serving, and alternates.  For example, I had at least 5 different pancake recipes.  Hours of research and grocery shopping accompanied this nobebook.  In fact, I was so proud of it that I hid it from my family, fearing it might convey a food obsession of some sort.   What possessed me to disregard the notebook and invite requests, I can't say.  But after the first invite, two more had to follow. 

Once again, focusing on the guests and not the plan, proved delicious and delightful.  Two packages of egg roll skins later, we had about 40+ hot, crisp egg rolls.  Six were raced over to our neighbors.  For dinner, the seven of us ate a bunch with rice and stir-fried vegetables.  Mysteriously, only two were left the next morning.  My only regret is that I had no  idea that their father was looking forward to eating those egg rolls at the lunch the day before.  Next time, I promise!

Egg Rolls...simplified and doubled 
In a food processor, finely chop and put into bowls enough to produce the following:
#1. 1 c. celery and 1 1/2 c. cabbage (I cheat and buy a bag of shredded slaw.)
#2. 1 c. shrimp and 1 c. pork (I buy a package of breakfast sausage.)
#3. 8 scallions, 2 cans water chestnuts, 2 minced garlic cloves

In 1 c. water, bring to a boil mixture #1.  Cook until tender, wilted (about 5 mins.) Drain.
Heat 6 TBLS oil and cook mixture #2 until the pork is cooked (about 5 mins.).
To that pan, add mixture #3 with 1/2 c. soy sauce, cooking for 5 more minutes.
Chill. You can freeze the combined cooked mixes at this point if you wish.
Deposit about 1/4 c. (or slightly less) of the chilled mixture in the center of the egg roll skin, roll, and seal by brushing with a flour-water slurry.  Fry in peanut oil at 375 degrees. Serve with sweet and sour sauce or hot mustard.  Enjoy!

Look for photos of the egg roll production and product on...EatsMeatsWest.blogspot.com, "Kitchen Adventures: Holiday Food Porn Edition"

A Moveable Feast...How to host a luncheon and an open house at the same time (Hospitality EVENTuality)

This blog focuses on the host’s need to be flexible...

It all started with a simple request from my oldest daughter, “Can we have a Christmas open house for our friends?” The other locally-raised siblings got on board. After a series of emails, the time was set for 5 PM – 7 PM. Thereafter, the family would open stockings and “real presents,” eat dinner, and partake in our free-for-all White Elephant escapade.  It sounded like a perfect plan.

Then, the sibling who had originally vetoed a lunch menu/time, reconsidered: his partner’s parents were now able to come--but only earlier in the day. At that point, the open house transformed to a sit-down lunch.

Well, not exactly. Some of the guests were coming from the beach and couldn’t promise a 1 PM arrival, predicting more of a 3 PM arrival.

Let me stop here and confess that I became frustrated. And I expressed my frustration to anyone who would listen. How was I supposed to host a lunch for some and an afternoon open house for others? Many configurations plagued me: Should we sit down or stand for the soup? For the meal? For the desserts? Should we serve at the table, from a buffet table, or from the kitchen? Will the 1 PM guests still be around when the 3 PM guests arrive? If so/not, how many chairs and tables do I need? Needless to say, my micromanaging skills failed me; and in the end, I had no choice but to succumb to entertaining outside my spreadsheet mentality of timelines, set-up configurations, and tone control. Without much common sense, but with sheer determination to be less determining, this was how the event enfolded. Nb: The use of the passive voice indicates my lack of control.

1. lunch... When guests arrived, we secured their drinks and showed them to the buffet table full of plates, utensils, napkins, and appetizers. People stood, sat, and wandered around the house.

2. lunch...When it seemed that most people had arrived (though it was hard to tell because of the RSVP method), we broke out the long table, added the extensions, and packed as many chairs around as we thought we needed. People sat and were served their choice of soups. (One couple had to leave at this point but were dying to try the soups that they smelled on the stove. To my credit and their delight, I ignored my dining room guests and doled out the two varieties in the kitchen before the couple had to dash to another holiday engagement.)

3A. lunch...With soups consumed by the seated guests, we invited them to the kitchen for the main course’s self-serve style. Conversations continued and laughter escalated.

2B and 3B. open house...Sometime after the first crowd was eating their main course, the beach group arrived. People left the table to greet them and insisted that they backtrack to the soup course. More chairs were squished in, soups were served, and they were invited to graze the original table for leftover appetizers and the remainders of the main course (that had been brought in from the kitchen.) Because most people had eaten, the beach group were assailed with reviews of the food—mostly good, I’m pleased to report.

4. lunch/open house...When some people had consumed seconds and everyone had consumed firsts, we served desserts at the table.

People got up, hugged, and began to leave. Someone who had left before the soup and was supposed to return, never came back. If you ask me how many people I served for each course, I really couldn’t say. All I can accurately report is that we had lots of fun and hopefully, will have lots of good memories. A week plus later, I can see by my numbered report that I'm still trying to organize this semi-chaotic event in my mind. Perhaps, instead, my efforts would be better spent reflecting upon a few hospitality lessons for me to learn.

1. People trump food.
2. Organization should facilitate guests’ good time not dictate behavior.
3. As a host, I’m not responsible for (or in control of) the whole event.
4. I can’t have fun at my own party if I see myself as the event organizer, rather than the host.
5. Once I stop taking myself so seriously, it’s a better party...for everyone.

The next time that schedules and emergencies threaten to alter my perfect entertaining plan, I promise to move with  the moveable feast.

Here's what I put on the menu cards displayed on the appetizer table:

Holiday Lunch 2009

mozzarella roll ups w/ basil, red pepper

deviled eggs

chicken liver terrine & crackers

crescent spirals w/ heart of palms, cream cheese, pimento

prosciutto wrapped figs

brie, salmon, dill bites

phyllo cups with cheese, raspberry, almond slice

phyllo cups w/ salmon spread

shrimp and crab bisque or butternut squash soup

turkey salad, croissants

beets with mandarin oranges & vinaigrette

corn & bean salad

mac ‘n cheese

toffee bars or key lime bars

A few recipes...

These two soups make a good pair...

shrimp and crab bisque

Use this recipe...http://www.recipezaar.com/Sherried-Lobster-Bisque-73924...with these changes.  Substitute shrimp and good quality crab meat for the lobster. Never use half and half.  Use heavy cream instead.  Use homemade chicken stock to which I added some fish sauce.  If you're going to freeze this, leave out the shrimp and crab.  Add after you thaw and reheat.  Everyone loved this.

butternut squash soup...See Dave Lieberman's recipe on The Food Newwork. I used canned pears and added a can of mango.  Everyone loved this also.

turkey salad...See Ellie Krieger's recipe for curried chicken salad. I used leftover turkey instead.

toffee bars Virginia Rohrer
Giant Hershey bar, 1 c. brown sugar, 1 egg yolk, 2 c flour, 1 cup butter

Mix together sugar and margarine. Add egg yolk and flour. If it is sticky, add little more flour so that you can work the dough. Pat into pan evenly (15x12). [I doubled the crust and used 4 Hershey bars.]  Bake 350 for 20 mins. Break up giant Hersehy bar and spread on top. Sprinkle with finely chopped nuts. But into squares before they are cold. You can put the entire pan in freezer. Freeze and then take out and put in a tin to store.

Pakistan (Hospitality Nationality)

We gathered at Iqbal’s and Sherrin's house with her mother, who was visiting from Pakistan.

We enjoyed Aaalu Paratha (potato-filled pan-fried pancakes), homemade

yogurt, fruit, and tea with milk or

evaporated milk.  The pancakes have tiny diced bits of potato with corriander
seeds.  Sherrin lightly fried them
on the stove and we eagerly ate each hot as it came off the pan.  You break them in bits and dip them in the fresh yogurt.  They're light but filling.  The whole experience is geared toward pleasing the guest as he or she keeps eating and conversing.

We learned about Pakistani hospitality codes...

...If someone arrives at your house (likely unannounced and uninvited) around meal time, you must invite him or her to stay for the next meal. If someone—invited or not—arrives at your house in the evening, you must invite him or her to stay overnight. I asked if people don’t abuse this generosity. “Probably,” was the simple response. Evidently, that’s not a deal breaker. However, following that train of thought—my shameful Little Red Hen tendency to keep score—Iqbal recited a Pakistani rhyme. I need to get him to write down the rhyme in Urdu, but here’s the gist of it: For the 1st day of your visit, you’re considered to be a guest. For the 2nd day, you’re still considered to be a guest. For the 3rd day, you’re (something like) "a torture to our lives." Obviously, every hospitality code has its limits.

So what’s to be learned from Pakistan’s hospitality morality? Guests choose you; you welcome and provide for them. Overstaying harbors resentment between guest and host. But resentment is no excuse for shirking host responsibilities.  The Little Red Hen should take note.