The Queen of the Dinner Party
It’s not lost on me what a rare and potentially once-in-a-lifetime event this is.
Erin and her team are hosting only 38 dinners this year. If every seat at each dinner is filled, that makes just over two thousand guests. How lucky we are, tonight, to be six of them.
The Lost Kitchen has long since risen from a hidden gem to a national treasure. The TV show is lovely; the books are a treat. But my favorite production remains this 10-minute feature from almost ten years ago.
In it, Erin talks about duty. She feels, she says, a “duty to give every bit that I can for the other people in this community.” The farmers and artisans, her neighbors, her sisterhood of friends. Their lives are bound together, as is their success.
She also talks about love. This part is simple enough. It’s why she feeds people — to make them feel loved.
If not motivated by love, then what is hospitality? Love of a land, of a community, of a companion at table, of a stranger you welcome as a guest.
The food is simple and glorious. A no-holds-barred jubilation of this land and its bounty. But the embodiment of this love on the table is what sets a meal at the Lost Kitchen apart. Erin has a rare and wonderful talent for communicating it. She stitches it into every last detail of her dinner party.
A repurposed hometown mill of love.
A twine-tied lavender sprig of love.
A tiny milkglass hen of love.
An unrushed five-hour meal of love.
To experience it all in this way, as someone looked after and loved, is a gift and a wonder.
