Nov-Dec-2015_Pg 11_no bleed

ENTERTAINING

The Adult Kids’ Table by Pableaux Johnson

that baby’s going to be either comatose or screaming itself hoarse. As host, you can be gracious and play the long game with a single move: think of the feast in segments, and let some folks choose what works for their schedule. A usual feast can be split pretty easily into early and late shifts (pre-dinner drinks, the meal itself, pie and coffee after). If a beloved nephew can only get there for dessert, ask that they come for dinner next year. Flexibility and grace go a long way, especially for traveling guests for whom time and mileage are precious. (Added bonus: the early/late designation can also keep the feuding folks separated, just in case truce negotiations fall through.) Play Zones One of the beauties of a large holiday gathering is that it’s as likely as not to spill into different rooms. (Who has a five-leaf, 20-seat table these days?) Tradition has always dictated a “kid’s table” for practical/behavioral reasons, and TV sports spawned a similar tray- based area for uncompromising sports fans. It might not exactly be what Great Grandma Pearl would have wanted, but in the modern day, it keeps the peace. Figure out your zones, then match the personnel to the spaces. For example: seat like with like (quiet teenagers in one corner works) or use buffer zones to keep Falcons fans away from their equally dedicated Saints-loving counterparts. Nod to Formality Since we’re talking about a holiday dinner here, we should at least give a hat tip toward tradition, and that usually means a wee bit of formality. A family gathering is a great time to do little formal rituals that get lost in the everyday shuffle, and sometimes it’s the little gestures that count. If you, as host, have a couple of guidelines that lean toward the formal, mention them at the beginning of the meal. (Want a phone- free lunch? Ask nicely and clearly. Expect a pre-meal blessing? Give newcomers a bit of a heads-up.) Know that it makes mamas and grandmothers proud to see their kids dress up every once in awhile. Know that it’s good to let people tell you how much you’ve grown since last year. Know that the game highlights will run all night if you’re talking to Uncle Earl for an hour. Let it slide Having constructed a new framework for the holiday feast, this might be the most important thing of all: Let things slide. It’s a time-tested strategy that just about EVERYBODY’S mama has put into effect at some point.You accept a decent percentage of success and ignore the rest. Sometimes the best gift is the gift of compromise. When you get down to it, no party is going to be perfect (Martha Stewart articles and Pinterest boards notwithstanding), and these few times a year, it’s good to let the details go and just appreciate your people. Odds are you’re not going to remember your Deco-themed napkin rings nearly as much as that time that Little Philip saddled up the family sheepdog and crashed through the TV trays.That’s the stuff that we’ll remember. Just as it should be.

My grandmother’s big kitchen table (where we usually ate anyway) was a quarantine zone, with a door separating the Adult World and a dozen or more grade-school kids attempting what could be generously called “their best behavior.” For the kids, it was a solid holiday compromise that everyone could accept. On the down side, we had to wear church clothes after official mass hours. On the up side, our barely ruly mob was only lightly supervised, which made for an interesting fancy-dress version of Lord of the Flies with the promise of dessert if we “behaved properly.” (Propriety, we soon learned, was HIGHLY overrated.) From your seats at the Kids’ Table, you had distinct advantages. The stakes were lower for the JV team because you could ladle your gravy straight out of the pot instead of Aunt Gladys’ prized gravy boat (which was, of COURSE, irreplaceable and made out of impossibly delicate Viennese porcelain). But, most importantly, the Kids’ Table was where the funny lived. Once the doors closed the smaller ones could abandon all pretense of posture and slump all they wanted. One could (hypothetically) make faces at one’s cousin who was VERY close to being grounded. On a particularly good night, you could make your little sister laugh at the PERFECT moment so she spit milk through her nose. Somebody would watch the door, and one of the other cousins would crack up the room with selections from the latest grade-school riddle book. When an authority figure pushed the door to check on us, we’d go back to impersonating “good kids” (which most of us were definitely NOT). And as modern day selfie-friendly parties amp up the fancy factor, I find myself arranging an impromptu Kids’ Table for Tall People — gravitating to the far end of the table with a few co-conspirators (always the funny ones), putting a bottle of wine within easy reach, and maybe sitting just out of themost uptight host’s sightlines. We try to keep our shenanigans

to a dull roar — you know, so that we can get dessert. It brings back that holiday family feeling all over again.

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