My wife and I have started telling people to drop by at dinnertime, even if they have plans for later in the evening. They come. I offer them some frittata or scrambled eggs or sometimes just grilled cheese and homemade sauerkraut. Our food is not complicated.
Friends come and we eat and we talk, and then they might cancel their plans and sit. We play Scrabble. Even better, we’ve rediscovered charades. Teams of four face off in our living room and we laugh, I swear, til tears are just pouring down our cheeks. The rhythm of our lives is changing.
It’s not based on electronic entertainment. It’s based on home-cooked food, and not especially good home-cooked food, either. It’s based on the fact that the kitchen table, not the TV, has become the center of our lives. It’s based on the fact that our house has become a home.
It’s true that we sometimes miss the strawberries we can’t have and the nonlocal balsamic vinegar we used before the project started. And we dread that our stock of nonlocal salt is soon to run out, too. But still, I enjoy feeling a little like a grandmother, feeding all my friends. There is something wonderful about it, and wonderful about playing host and everybody just being able to kick their shoes off and relax.
This rush we’re in — I don’t think people like it. At least for this year, my family has opted out of it. Is that why people flock to us lately?
— Colin Beavan, No Impact Man