Friday Night (High)Lights

These days, my son comes over for Friday night dinner at least several times a month. Sometimes with friends and roommates. Sometimes by himself. Sometimes he brings a bit of weed for an aperitif. More rarely, a good friend of his is thoughtful enough to bring a bottle of wine. It’s my absolute favorite time of the week.

Often, these dinners come at the tail end of a flurry of cooking in our soul food kitchen. I’m tired. I’ve already been in the kitchen far too long to get up the energy to make something special. The temptation to pull out leftovers is pretty fuckin’ strong. And I know my son will pretty much be happy with whatever I put on the table. But that’s not the point. A quick nap and I’m recharged. He’s requested my vegan mac ‘n’ cheese, a favorite. I decide to pair it with vegan sloppy joe’s with sides of green garlic soup and coleslaw. It’s a simple affair, homey even. The weed helps.

I miss having my daughter at the table as well, but she’s living abroad these days with her significant other. We talk via Whatsapp the afternoon before dinner. She has an unerring sense of when I most miss her, when I most need to hear her voice. It’s a simple chat, homey, what people in Israel call “small talk.” It’s anything but small talk.

When we first started doing these dinners on a regular basis, I would cook a mountain of food. Slowly, over time, I keep reducing the quantities. And yet the leftovers pile up, as always. It’s a mystery. Sometimes, my son is happy to oblige with take-away doggie bags, to snack on in the coming days. Tonight is not one of them. We store the leftovers away in the fridge, knowing full well that in a few days, we will dutifully take them out again and toss. Not even sure why we go through this ritual. Seems pointless.

The dishes are put away quickly. The kitchen and house revert to relative pristineness. You would almost never guess that anyone had been there an hour before. Almost.