Enough.

It is an odd concept, yet one that seems to insidiously work its way into my psyche around the occasion of each feast.

Do we have enough people coming? 

It is the first crossing – the phase where I wonder if running these nights is even a good idea. Whether people really want to come at all. A throwaway quote from Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life stuck in my mind: ‘And you? Your career is boring and pointless, your housekeeping skills are second-rate, your taste is appalling, you’re fatter than your friends and everyone dreads your parties.‘ Harsh, I know!

I like to think I’m a logical person, and that I can separate myself from this irrational critic, but reality is more complicated. Opening up your home and life to people is always a risk and there is a cost of vulnerability attached.

And what constitutes ‘enough’ in terms of people? Is it enough to crowd the house to bursting? Enough to fill the table? Really, or so I’ve come to realise, enough is the number who come because we have enjoyed each experience regardless of size.

Is there enough food?

I come from a line of generous cooks. Baba, who would literally not let you leave her table until you could barely move, and my own mother – who thoughtfully crafted three-course meals for dinner parties and single-handedly coordinated the catering of our engagement party (for over 200 people).

It is the perennial question that has me dropping by the shops to restock time and time again in the week leading up to the event, Dave doing a last minute panic-dash to Woolworths and me scanning  cupboards for ideas of what I could throw together just in case we run out of food.

Of course, we never do run out – quite the opposite in fact! But that hasn’t ever really stopped me over-catering.

Am I enough?

This is the kicker, and (ever since I’ve been sober) it chooses to rear itself just before everyone arrives. When I used alcohol, I would have a few drinks before people arrived, ‘just to take the edge off’.

Now, I have no choice but to sit with that feeling and welcome it. Because, inevitably, when that first guest comes through the door, I shift the attention off myself and begin to enjoy what the night is really about – that sense of connection that comes from shared meals and moments together.

Greek hospitality is unrivalled and generous. It loves variety and the sharp tang of citrus. It delights in a spread that leaves the table gasping – pots and dishes with hearty flavours of home. When in Greece, you will inevitably eat far too much, have to adjust your voice to talk loudly over that unmistakable wail in the music, and eventually throw your hands up and just give yourself over to the chaos.

The kitchen becomes a gathering ground for reunions and heaped platters. Every available space is taken over and we marvel at the delicious variety. Kids hustle for cup after cup of ‘special drink’ and adults settle in for a chance to catch up in the warm afternoon sun. There are more dips than you can count, and just as many varieties of bread and crackers to savour them. We try dolmathakia and tapenade, tiropitas and mezze combinations. There is fried saganaki and spanakopita and a delicious Greek bruschetta (riganatha) to round out the selection. We eat far too much, of course!

Dave gathers us all together to signal the start of the main meal, choosing to engage in an authentic Greek tradition to set the tone: the plate smash! It livens up the crowd and the shards are cleaned up quickly so that no child spears their feet. It is totally worth it. We load up our plates with too many options to count. A slow-roasted leg of lamb, souvlaki meat, a moreish moussaka, pastitsio, kefthethes (lemony Greek meatballs), horiatiki, fassolakia lathera (green bean and vegetable casserole), a huge dish of braised eggplant with potatoes, feta-studded spinach and rice (spanakorizo), watermelon salad and garlic roasted potatoes. It is truly epic. 

The kids play soccer for hours, hardly needing any adult intervention. The sun begins dipping towards the earth and the ouzo comes out, we catch up on moments missed and milestones achieved. There is an ebb and flow of conversation and music, laughter and happy chaos.

Dessert is a rich affair with an olive oil chocolate mousse that tastes like pure ganache, three different flavours of ice-cream, honey & walnut cookies, almond shortbread, baklava and two different flavours of loukoumi (rose & orange and lemon).

One by one families begin to disappear, aiming to seize that magic window before the kids come crashing back down to earth. We farewell each other fondly and make plans for the next feast, discussing the advantages of different cuisines. Pots and dishes are retrieved and a handful of us stick around for coffee and tea and deep conversation. For once we forget to even think about putting on a movie as the kids just keep playing outside together and then challenge each other to a basketball game on the x-box.

It is wonderfully satisfying to be a part of nights like these. The busy nature of life simply doesn’t allow for the depth of connection that we yearn for as humans. Even though my insecurities rear up in full volume as we approach each evening, the overwhelming conclusion is one of rightness. This is where we come into being even more fully, where we share more than just food together. We share our lives.

I see the threads of connection stretching out over our neighbourhood, to the school playground, our workplaces and through eras past. When we say goodbye we make plans to catch up again, hopefully before the next feast.

The secret that unveils itself time and time again is this – there is always enough. But this mystery is found – not by closeting ourselves away and hoarding our resources, but by opening ourselves up, time and time again. Sometimes the cost threatens to undo us, but the abundant reality that reveals itself is this: we can only find it together.

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 great 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: Spanish, Polish, American, French, Italian, Indonesian, Argentinian, Japanese, Turkish or Portuguese).