Sunday Supper

Once upon a time, in an effort to further forge the Mer-bond, I invited the Mer-maids over for a Sunday taco night. The night progressed with laughter and wine (perhaps not in that order), but regardless, the night was a success. And thus, a Sunday Supper tradition was born.

Every Sunday evening, around 7pm, we would progress to the weekly hosts’ for a deliciously prepared meal. I gormandized over the sweet potato enchiladas, crab imperial, and turkey-stuffed peppers while thinking OneRepublic got it right; This has gotta be the good life. In retrospect, inviting everyone over for the first Sunday Supper was nothing short of the foot-in-the-door technique, which was pretty easy given the fact that I was entrusted with the girls’ spare apartment keys.

Well, after numerous dinner rotations, it became apparent that my toil and tears was not fully appreciated. There was first the incident of the personal pizza. I purchased dough, cheeses, and a cornucopia of toppings and thought it would be pleasant for everyone to decorate their own dough; an interactive dinner of sorts. But this thoughtful gesture was dismissed as a mere attempt to outsource the food preparation process. How rude of me.

The most notable dinner delinquency was the Sunday chili and cornbread. I won some and I lost some. I won with the cornbread. I lost with the chili. Honesty, the chili wasn’t bad, I just ran out of time so the chili still contained many vegetables…oh, how do I say it…in the raw. The cornbread, on the other hand, sat stacked on a serving dish in a pyramid that gave the Great Pyramid of Giza a run for its money (or at least a run for its taste). The cornbread was edaciously devoured by all dinner party guests. In turn, they each praised the meal with their backhanded compliments.

-This cornbread is delicious. It even makes the chili taste good. How thoughtful.

-How did you make this cornbread, I’m going to need the recipe? Oh, I travelled to my local grocer and picked it up. The key to good cornbread is all in the way you slice it. Now exposed as a charlatan, I guess it is safe to say I lost with the cornbread too.

My life has a rather circuitous way; Sunday Suppers have followed me to Ghana. Seeing as commerce is closed for the Lord’s Day, and preferring not to fast, it seemed to be the logical next step. But I’ve learned my lesson – I don’t participate in the preparation. Everyone knows that there were the hunters and the gatherers. I hypothesize that there was a third group, the eaters, who died out through evolution. Yet, somehow I have managed to survive. I always knew I was an evolutionary miracle.