It has been a long time since our last Enchanted Table gathering. Our previous attempt at rustling up a feast was, well, a failure. A combination of poor date choice, scheduling clashes and being smack bang in the middle of winter, whatever it was, we couldn’t quite get there in the end. For a while I wondered whether perhaps these nights had run their course, whether smaller dinner parties with friends were a better option for this stage of life instead.
But then I remembered. The sounds of laughter and the clinking of plates. The feeling of warmth and delight. A table laden with colourful dishes. A house filled with life and love.
This time we find ourselves in Spain – swivelling to the syncopated rhythms, savouring the tempting tapas – the flaky crunch of the empanada, marvelling at the combination of manchego, olives, chorizo and jamon. Dishes arrive secretively, wrapped in layers of towels and foil, waiting patiently to unleash their brilliance to a crowd of appreciative eyes.
With the backdrop of deliciously balmy weather and a freshly cut lawn, the children get up to all kinds of mischief – playing hide and seek and other such games (that all seem to involve the imperative element of shrieking). There are pleas for ‘all the cheeses’ and constant refills of ‘special drink’, as well as sneaky handfuls of chips whenever they suspect we aren’t looking.
The night unfolds in swirls and snatches – conversations rise and fade as we rotate around each other – sampling new delicacies, cradling glasses of sangria (or fruit mocktail), marvelling that it could have been so long since we last saw each other. Time is witnessed at its most strident pace in the children, who seem to have loomed upwards all of a sudden.
When each dish is unveiled I feel the familiar swell of amazement. How is it that a decadent feast can just ‘appear’ like this? A sumptuous paella, authentic pollo al Chilindron (chicken and peppers), mountains of Spanish Meatballs, a slow-cooked chorizo, pork and chickpea stew. Then there are the sides – spinach and chickpeas, a Spanish salad (pipirrana), garlic mushrooms, an orange, fennel and mint salad, chickpeas and rice with mushrooms , and tomato-hued rice. Plates are loaded with gusto and even the children brave new tastes as they disappear to the converted garage to banter and heckle each other.
Life is at its most meaningful in these moments. Sitting side by side at a long table, savouring a hearty meal and taking the time to reconnect. Even the insistent notes of overpowering (and misused) Lynx spray looming from the kids’ bedrooms are impotent against the power of such magic.
In the kitchen, helpful hands move into swift motion – scraping plates and loading the dishwasher, loading leftovers into takeaway containers. We move as one – a natural dance of to and fro – summoning order out of chaos, one plate at a time.
When dessert is laid out, we can barely fit it in. There is a delicious crema catalana, squares of Spanish almond cake, a layered peach and raspberry trifle, layered Spanish bar cake, a rich Three cities of Spain cheesecake, a fruit platter and smartie-covered ice-cream cones for the kids. The cocoa-scented Barcelona-style hot chocolate just about finishes us off. As usual I take hardly any photos, except for a few hurried shots before we tuck in, but the memories are rich and vivid in my mind.
In the week before, as I prepare for the night, I immerse myself completely in the music – each beat and melody transporting me elsewhere for a while. I travel in these moments, in the space between the notes, convinced that I am, in fact, in Spain. It is the gift of imagination, of wonder, that continues to sustain – a satisfying echo long after the event.
Even so, there is always a moment beforehand when I wonder why we are doing this. A breath where I stare at the tasks mounting up and query whether it’s worth it. But always, every single time, the night ends with renewed resolution – with gratitude for friendship, appreciation of delicious food and a profound sense of connection.
Poor Dave collapses with exhaustion as the last guests depart, having held it together for the entire day (and soloing the four at a playground so I could weave my magic in peace) despite cradling a significant cold. And yet, even in the fog of chills and bleariness, he confirms how important these nights are. For all of us.
The reality of life will not change. We will always be too busy, too tired, too introverted. There will always be chauffeur requirements for kids’ games and commitments, the looming deadlines of work and the gravitating pull of hobbies. But when we make the time, pouring ourselves into the creation of space, opening up our hearts and homes with cautious abandon, we find it. That thing we had been searching for all along.
Life is made and captured around the table. It is found between bites, in laughter and conversation. It is and will forever be, enchanting.
Please let me know if you would like to come along to one of these nights in the future! We so enjoy hosting a mix of people and – if you love food and good conversation – The Enchanted Table has your name all over it. Or if you live too far away but want to host your own, just shoot through a message and I’ll send you through a menu guide. You can choose from: Polish, American, French, Italian, Indonesian, Argentinian, Japanese, Turkish or Portuguese).
