Holding Close to Friendships in a Time of Social Distancing

I mailed out homemade invitations to a festive St. Patrick's Day dinner to be held at my home in suburban Maryland four weeks before the new coronavirus made "pandemic" a household word. Even the week before my guests arrived for dinner on March 14th, there had been no widespread panic, no hoarding of toilet paper and hand-sanitizer, no school cancellations or public calls for people not to congregate. By the time residents in my area were stripping shelves at every store in the region, I'd already purchased a seven pound beef brisket and all the trimmings for an elegant dinner party I hoped would bring friends together who hadn't seen each other in years.

My front porch mascot
was dressed in his
finest St. Paddy's Day
attire!

With my dinner guests confirmed and looking forward to the get together, we discussed the possibility of a governmental prohibition on hyper-local travel or the quarantining of one of our neighborhoods, and concluded that, although one case of Covid-19 had been confirmed in my county, it didn't seem to be in any town nearby, and no governmental restrictions on private gatherings had been imposed or even suggested.

In the days leading up to Saturday night, I reaffirmed that my visitors were healthy and had traveled nowhere by plane nor cruise ship in the recent past. We agreed that getting together for a small dinner party in a private home did not violate the prohibition against congregating in large numbers. I made sure my guests would have multiple opportunities for robust handwashing and disinfecting throughout the evening. In good faith and hopeful spirits, my dinner party went forward.

Once my dinner guests had RSVP'd, I set about to reward their bravery in venturing out socially amid this climate of uncertainty and germaphobia. After all, save for my ex-husband, Jesse, whose companionship I share most weekends, I had only met the other couples on my guest list once, and that was briefly and long ago. What was most tantalizing to me, and which became the impetus for this particular party's invitees, was that all three of the men who were invited had once been dear friends, yet had not caught up with each other in decades.

The evening's menu

In preparation for my dinner party, I put together "pots o' gold" for each place setting, filling each small green tub with "gold-nugget" Rolo candies. The treasure pots would serve as placecards, but I also wanted my guests to take them home as a memento of what I hoped would be a memorable evening. So I purchased Kraft paper gift bags large enough to hold two pots each and supplemented the bag contents with a copy of the dinner menu printed on heavy cardstock, rolled and tied with ribbon and fastened with a green floral hair clip. I tucked a bottle of homemade mustard vinaigrette into each bag, the stoppers of which were adorned with a sparkling green geode.

When I learned that one couple would be traveling from their new home three hours away, I invited them to bring their dog and spend the night in my guest house so as not to have to drive such a long way home after dinner. I tucked a doggy toy into their guest bag. And then, of course, I did the same for the other couple, as well. After all, my other guests, who only live minutes from my house, also own a dog!

Once the place cards and gift bags were prepared, I moved on to meal prep. Years ago I came across a recipe for "corning" beef, and it was so good that I have corned my own beef ever since. First I assembled a heady rub of salt, pepper, sugar, ground nutmeg, cinnamon, coriander, ginger and clove, minced fresh garlic, crushed bay leaves, cider vinegar and mustard, stirred it into a thick paste, and rubbed it all over a seven-pound brisket. Once the beef was covered and refrigerated for its two-day spice saturation, I turned to slicing and bagging onions and beets to roast with the beef, then asparagus, cabbage and baby carrots for my side dishes, and finally citrus wheels to garnish a delicious champagne punch.

Next, I toasted slivered almonds in a bit of butter, then coated them with brown sugar and cinnamon and turned them out to dry on wax paper. They would add a spicy note to a lovely salad of spring greens, shredded Gruyere, chopped blood oranges and red pears, made all the more intriguing with a dressing of  blood orange juice, lemon juice, a special honey-vinegar, ground cloves and salt.

Every shelf in my fridge
was packed!

After that, I peeled and boiled Yukon gold potatoes, which I put through a ricer and beat with milk and butter for a fancy mashed starch that incorporates heavy cream (beaten into stiff peaks) into the potatoes for extra decadence. I turned the mashed potatoes out into a baking dish, drizzled them with more butter, sprinkled on some shredded Parmesan and stuck them in the fridge for final baking on the day of the party.  My refrigerator was getting full!

I had to act quickly once the pudding
thickened to pour it into small glass
pots before it got too stiff to work 

Then I set about making a batch of mint-infused chocolate pudding, which I poured into individual glass votive holders in the shape of seedling pots. I let the puddings congeal, then sprinkled ground chocolate cookies over the top of each pot to resemble "dirt", into which I would later "plant" sprigs of fresh mint for the dessert course. Yum!

The day before my party I arranged green and white carnations, spider mums, daisies and baby's breath into a low-profile centerpiece for my dinner table. I assembled smaller bouquets for scattering around my house and in my guest cottage. I repeated my winning centerpiece from last year by setting the arrangement into a glittery, overturned top hat and garnished the brim with faux gold coins.

On the morning of my party I engaged in my very favorite pre-party pastime: setting the table! I covered a satiny white tablecloth that I've had for years with an embroidered table runner I purchased at a market stall in Budapest in 2017. On top of that went green felt laser-cut placemats and on top of those I set golden chargers. Then on went my grandmother's 24 karat gold china dinner plates, over which I placed napkins that Jesse had creatively folded into shamrocks. In the center of each napkin, I placed a placecard pot o' gold, and then scattered the rest of the table with tiny silk shamrocks, votive candles, green and gold "coins" and acrylic gems.

Next I adorned my dining room chairs with gold velvet covers and faux-sheepskin throws fastened with sparkly green bows. On the back of each chair I hung a pretty garland of faux spring flowers. Then I decanted condiments: red beet horseradish, white horseradish and four different mustards for the beef, and four different flavors of vinegar for the cabbage. I set out shamrock-molded butter pats into which I had pressed real clover leaves.

In the early afternoon, I took the spiced brisket out of the fridge and treated it to an unusual braising bath of orange juice and beer. I covered the corned beef with parchment-lined tinfoil and stuck it in the oven at precisely 3:00 p.m., followed an hour later by the cabbage and carrots, both similarly bathed and covered.

My oven was working hard!

As the afternoon progressed, I plated appetizers, opened cabernet sauvignon to let it breathe and assembled a festive punch, leaving addition of the final ingredient, champagne, until the moment of my guests' arrival. I lit candles and organized a playlist of my favorite Celtic music CDs.

When I was confident everything was under control, it was time to venture upstairs to dress for my party. I donned a simple pair of black leggings and an asymmetrical Alfani Elements tunic in shades of green from Macy's. I pulled on some kicky black Roper boots trimmed in rhinestones, one of the few pairs of shoes I can wear comfortably since my foot is still a bit swollen from breaking my leg last summer, and returned to the kitchen, this time in an apron to protect my attire from splashes and spills.

Once the corned beef was ready, I removed it from the oven, tented it for twenty minutes and then carved the juicy meat into hearty slices. I returned the brisket to its roasting pan and put it back in the oven with the temperature set to "keep warm" this time.

From left, Mark and Sherry, Rob, Jesse
and me. The guideline to stay 6 feet
 from one another had not yet been
issued.

At 7:00 p.m. my guests arrived. Sherry and Mark are practically neighbors of mine, living only a few blocks away, yet they'd never been to my house for dinner.  Rob arrived a few minutes later, apologizing for the absence of his wife, Brigid, who felt it best to remain home where she was overseeing a vigorous round of hens laying eggs and chicks hatching.

As Jesse hung coats, I added champagne to the punch and doled out flutes of the sparkling goodness. We gathered around my coffee table and dug into simple appetizers: dolmas, pickled Cipollini onions and roquefort-stuffed olives. The conversation was lively as Mark, Rob and Jesse caught up on the events in each others' lives which had transpired during their years-long separation.

In time, I returned to the kitchen to bring all the dishes to completion. I lit a fire in my dining room fireplace and called everyone to the table.

As we toasted the reunion of long lost compatriots, the five of us tore into the corned beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad. We passed au jus, horseradish and mustard for the beef, vinegar for the cabbage, and butter for Irish soda bread. We toasted the importance of friendship in this time of heightened wariness of one's neighbors and countrymen. The old friends reminisced about dearly departed comrades and shared stories from long ago. I queried my guests with St. Patrick's Day trivia questions and handed out small prizes to the winners. We poured more wine.

Eventually, it was time for chocolate pudding. When all was said and done, Mark and Sherry headed for home, their goodie bag in hand, and Rob headed out to my guest cottage for the night.

Breakfast for my guests the next
morning began with fresh blueberries
and ended with a bacon, egg, cheese
and hashbrown casserole

In the morning, Jesse, Rob and I convened for breakfast at 9:00 a.m. I served a scrumptious breakfast casserole, the recipe courtesy of my best friend's mom, Joyce, which was preceded by fresh blueberries and cream. Once Rob had eaten his fill, he, too, headed out, and I began a massive but pleasantly contemplative cleanup effort, marred only by the fact that my 20-year-old dishwasher latch failed, causing Jesse to have to break the handle apart to get the door open and the clean dishes out.

Later in the afternoon,  Jesse conceived a perfect makeshift repair for the dishwasher, utilizing a small door hinge, a piece of cardboard and an old putty knife, which has undoubtedly extended the life of my old dishwasher for another year or so. While Jesse was at the store retrieving parts for the dishwasher repair, I planted a gorgeous and fragrant yellow hyacinth that was a lovely hostess gift from Mark and Sherry the night before.

On the Monday following my party, the American Centers for Disease Control urged citizens not to hold social gatherings of any size nor to stand closer than six feet from one another. Had that prohibition come just a few days earlier, I would have had to cancel my dinner party. And, indeed, the next dinner party I am planning for early May may yet have to be suspended.

But for those of us who gathered Saturday evening in my old farmhouse to celebrate long-lived friendships amid the wearing o' the green, it was a way to hold fast to the importance of human interaction and to cherish the value of social connection in these precarious and frightening times. The significant worth of interpersonal relationships should never be taken for granted. Our humanity is to be treasured -- as much as a pot o' gold!
Cheers,
Lynell

“I find myself unable to let go of the sense that… moment-to-moment human experience contains a certain unquantifiable essence…” ~ Douglas Rushkoff