Thoughtless Hostess

Last night as the kids dressed in their formal finest and their parents were coming into our house, I was consumed with the giant porchetta cooking in our oven. It was the size of a log that needed to be split in thirds to make it fire place sized. It took almost six hours to cook.
The kids went up to the gathering room, the pretentious name our architect gave our family room. He was right, gathering is what we do there when there are a lot of us. As each couple exchanged flowers I snapped pictures. The mothers watched and the fathers mostly hung in the kitchen, the real gathering room.
The smell in our house was not one of the corsages on the girl’s wrists, but rather of the fennel laced pork and olive dotted focaccia in the oven. The time came for the kids to leave for dinner, giving me a chance to get dinner ready.
I hated the peas and asked reluctant friend Lee to stir the gravy. Russ helped wrestle the pork from the pan where the crackling skin had adhered over the many hours in the oven. With my trusty electric knife I was blue to glide through the meat that was over 12 inches across. I piled chunk and slice after slice on the the platter, adding the carrots, onions and fennel cooked in the juices to finish out the platter. Cooper brought a kale salad, and we had peas and focaccia. It was a giant feast.
This afternoon Russ asked me, “Do Mark and Kelly eat pork.” Mark had sat next to Russ last night and he noticed he had a rather small plate. “Oh no, they don’t eat pork, I totally forgot.”
What wonderful guests they were. Not a word was mentioned that I was serving a meal that they could not enjoy. I wish Russ had mentioned Mark’s skimpy plate to me last night. I most certainly could have rustled up some pork free entree. My friend Lynn does not eat pork, but she hardly eats anything at all and I knew that was going to be the case. Next time I have people to dinner I might remember to ask if there are any food issues.