BREAKING THE BREAD ... BARRIER

In families as big as the one I come from, hosting a holiday meal - or, as I like to call it, Staging the Feast - is a big deal. The sheer number of people, and where to put them all, especially if it happens to be really cold outside (like Christmas usually is), is a challenge even for the best of us. Scrounging up enough chairs is a quest in itself.

Depending on who all can be there, we have done everything from setting the tables out in a heated garage, to renting a hall. And, we share a traveling table that does the rotation through the hosting houses as the year’s feast days roll around. It’s always “the kids’ table” ; the grown up’s get to sit at the “real” table. There’s no right-of-passage quite like making it to “grown up’s table”.

But there are other stepping stones in the family meal tradition. The whole thing is one huge growing experience, really, when you think about it. And anyone who has just finished putting the last of her fancy dishes away from the latest family banquet, if she has any sense in her head at all, longs for the days when she got to sit at the little folding table in the living room and dodge doing dishes altogether.

I don’t know as any of us every knew what a lot of work Staging the Feast was, because Mom always made it look easy. Did any of us ever know when she stuffed that 25 pound turkey? Were we even out of bed yet when that job was done? I know I had to call her for thawing and stuffing directions the first time I was named “cooker of the bird”. And to be completely honest here, I have two kinds of “done” in my repertoire: not-quite-done, and way-overdone. The learning curve is a work in progress.

Luckily - for all family hostesses - another family tradition is that everyone contributes to the feast. As soon as the invitation is issued a reply of “What can I bring?” is offered back. The hostess usually provides all the hot dishes, and the guests furnish the more portable items. And, there is a hierarchy to this that I had never thought about until this past weekend when I was asked for ... (drum roll here) ... buns.

You see, when you are first considered grown up enough to contribute, your part of the meal is something that you can’t possibly mess up - a jar of pickles (store bought, of course) or a pound of butter (ditto). Once you make it past that first barrier, a jellied salad is suggested. If that makes the grade, maybe you’d like to bring some kind of a chilled dessert slice? By this time, quite possibly you’ve hosted a smaller gathering yourself, and have proven you can cook, so perhaps next time you’re asked for a ham or your own personal trophy salad. But, when my sister - my older sister - asked me ... for ... the ... buns ... last week, I was taken aback. If you think that moving up to the big people’s table is a big step, you haven’t been asked to provide the buns yet.

Is it because “the bread” at a meal is the symbol of the meal itself, as in the breaking of the bread? Is it because good bread is something only experience can provide? I don’t know about other families, but in ours, bread is the offering of only the top cooks. And I was being asked for this all important component! I was in awe of the responsibility.

It’s funny. It’s not that I can’t make buns, I do it all the time - for my own family, and nobody has died yet; that must count for something, but making THE BUNS for Thanksgiving, I tell you - this is big stuff.

It took me two batches, because the first batch was just mediocre, but my offering for Sunday dinner was the best I could do - and still a little steamy from the oven. Not a one survived the afternoon. I feel like I’m all grown up now. I wonder what’s next? Should I try my hand at Christmas Pudding?