Tom Haines, late of the Boston Globe, a two-time travel writer of the year and an inspiration for The Long Table (he and Julie, Erin’s cousin, hosted us in Paris on our round-the-world trip home from Vanuatu), shared these good-food/good-talk anecdotes with me recently:
One of my favorite days so far came in 1991 or so, in South Miami, at the home of the sister of a college friend. My friend, Nick, is the child of a couple from Uruguay, and his sister Victoria had married a man from Ecuador, named Enrique. Enrique is a carpenter, and they’d bought a small bungalow and out the back Enrique had built a long, shaded porch and on it, a hand-made wooden table that seated 20 or so comfortably. All family and friends knew that on Sunday Enrique cooked and that the door was open. We joined them shortly after noon for gnocchi and conversation. People came and went throughout the day, an hour or more between courses, as some would go lie in the shade, or stroll the neighborhood, or head indoors to read a book. Always, at the table, there was a core of conversation. Grilled chicken came later, etc.
I think, too, of a visit to the home of the parents of my friend Gabriel Dvoskin, in Lomas de Zamora, just south of Buenos Aires. Gabriel’s father, Victor, had built a quinxo out behind their simple home. A quinxo is a kind of grill house, with a brick grill. Victor had also built a high bar and a long table. He greeted each guest with “Bienvenidos Chori-pan” a “welcome chorizo sandwich” fresh off the grill. Over the next hours, in addition to Malbec, he served grilled steaks and ribs, sausages, sweet breads and more. But always he was talking, laughing, enjoying the conversation with friends. Which was his goal.
And finally, this from Solon. The reunion this year more or less wrapped up on Friday. Bill, John, Paul had all departed with their families. Mary and her family were in South Russell. Only Julie, the kids and I, and Dan and his three boys from Hawaii remained. The day before, Bill and Maire had bought a replacement dining room table at a house sale – there’s was worn and rickety – and so the rainy Saturday was devoted to moving one table out, another in. That was accomplished by 2 p.m. Maire and I sat in a joking way to “test” the new table. Bill walked up and said, “Tom, how about a nice Malbec.” Dan strolled by and took a seat. We sat with salted peanuts and red wine and turned the pages of an almanac, first to study Chilean valleys, then Hawaiian islands, and on. Dan said, “we need to eat,” so he and his eldest seasoned steaks with worcestershire and garlic, I sauteed onions to put on top, and headed upstairs for a Barbera I’d bought at a small vineyard in Russian River Valley. It was early for dinner, maybe 4, but we sat for a feast of food and conversation, and agreed the new table had been well christened.
