Any Given Sunday (in France)

june 21

Ten years ago I found myself in the middle of rural France. High in the hills, in a hamlet that had four houses. A fifth was being built by an American couple, that's why I was there. They hired my dad and his building partner, Daniel, to lay the foundation, break down the stone barn etc. My dad brought me along.
The only other life in the immediate vicinity was Michelle, his wife, and their goats. We spent the hot days of June wrecking old wood structures, jackhammering old pig stalls, digging temporary fire pits, an outdoor shower, and best of all, a totally temporary partially outdoor kitchen in a large garden shed. Kitchen table was a door laid over two sawhorses.
On weekends there were more people that showed up. Michelle's brother from Paris who was in a gypsy music group "Bratsch", his wife doing a PhD, Michelle's in laws, a guy who'd leave his car door open all day playing music, his girlfriend with bloodshot and wanderings eyes, a peasant who could have easily been cast in the French version of Deliverance, big moustache, yellowed cigarette stuck permanently to lip, always down to invite himself in for a glass of wine as long as it was after 9 am.
Every Sunday, in someone's yard, we'd lay out a big lunch, around two o'oclock. It was always hard to me to wait that long (noon is lunchtime to me) but what was laid out usually made it worthwhile.
It always ended with cheese from Michelle's goats. I remember this crazy one shaped like a pyramid, rolled and coated in gray ash.

I'm not a big cook or entertainer, but I vowed to myself when school ended that each sunday this summer I would have at least one person over my house and cook for them.
This terrifies me. It seems to come easily to many. Daniel and his wife Pat actually went on to move to France and have been there for about four years now. A natural choice for them as they are natural party hosts, very social. I am not. I'm awkward. Actors are most comfortable playing someone else. My self? how do I do that.
But there is something that happens, sometimes, when you sit down with a bunch of people, not just to satisfy hunger, but to sit down. It happened on some of those days, not all. In some way the laughter, the serious and silly conversation, the food and wine, the weather, it would all balance together and become more than the sum of it's parts.

This sunday is my mom's birthday lunch. Twelve people. Crowded backyard, no goats. I don't even know what to make yet.

Everyone is crazy for food these days. The food book table at the bookstore is enormous. Chefs are hotter than movie stars. Restaurant openings are more buzzed that theatre openings. Iron chef is bigger that boxing or baseball with people I know.

I'm trying to find something else. I'm trying to find that reason for sitting down.