Marilyn Stowe Blog

Are dinner parties stressful?

I have spent the last week or so championing the cause of women who choose not to work. In the course of so doing I have had to think quite a lot about what they do, and do so well, and I have realised that compared to them, in so many ways, I am truly deficient.

Is it stressful giving a dinner party? That’s the question in today’s Daily Telegraph.

In my opinion, it is extremely stressful and bravo if you can do it! I know for sure that I certainly can’t cook for a dinner party.

My ‘piece de resistance’, now honed to a fine art, is the well known “Tuna Splosh”. This is a dish of incomparable finesse involving a can of tuna and a can of chopped tomatoes thrown together in a pan, heated and mixed with some pasta (any pasta that comes to hand). My husband, son and ultimately, our dogs, love it. I can serve it lukewarm, boiling hot or even – if I’m demonstrating major culinary skill – hot outside and cold in the middle.

Would I serve it at a dinner party? Perhaps not! But then the last dinner party I ever gave was in 1983 when I courageously prepared Beef Wellington and used the wrong joint of meat. With my guests and husband chewing, and chewing, and chewing, (and chewing) mortified I resorted to a quick joke and removed everybody’s plates. The dessert unfortunately didn’t even make it to the table. It was a kind of rich chocolate cake, but unfortunately it fell on the floor and cracked a tile in the kitchen. The only cake I have made since then was a carrot cake for my son Ben, which I accidentally dropped into the sink because it was hot coming out of the oven. We both scraped it out of the sink and, as usual, it fed the dogs.

My sister was a stay-at-home mum by choice. She chose not to work. She argued fiercely that her children needed her and she needed them. Unarguably she’s done a great job with them. But she has other skills too. She can throw together a fabulous dinner party at the drop of a hat. She can cater for 20 people without blinking – in fact she frequently does. Her Friday night dinners are legendary, especially her chicken soup! Phone her at any time, day or night and she will be round with a hot cooked meal. When I was in hospital, I swear it was her calorie light but nourishing soup that got me better. Phoning her for help when Ben was young, and despite her own little brood, she’d come and scoop him up and look after him any time, no matter how many other children were also round at her home. Even now, at the age of 21, when Ben needs something, he will frequently phone my sister and I don’t mind at all. I know he is in the safest and most loving of hands.

I remember one time when Ben was little and I had my first ever substantial round table meeting at a well known firm of solicitors. I had nowhere to leave Ben because the nanny phoned in sick. It was a Monday morning after all. I phoned my sister panicking. Of course she agreed to look after him. No problem. I drove him over to her house then drove furiously to the meeting all geared up for a scrap. On arrival I apologised for being late. “You’re not late Mrs. Stowe” said the supercilious lawyer. “You’re early. Very early. Our meeting is tomorrow.”

So I can’t help but get a little annoyed when career women round on those who stay at home and in some way devalue their efforts. My own view is, as women, no matter our choice – career or stay at home – what we all do is invaluable. We run our homes and our families as we wish. We can’t all be high flying professionals, we can’t all be gourmet cooks. Whatever we do, we do our best. We do a great job and good for us.

What liberation of women has given us all, in fact, is not forcing us down a particular road. Instead, it has given us a choice. We have a choice to have our families and run them as we want. We may marry, we may not. We may have children, we may not. We may work, we may not. But never, ever should what we do be devalued and denigrated in the eyes of others – especially by other women. We are a powerful, purposeful sisterhood, and – differences or not – long may we all remember it.

 

Image credit: kevindooley

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