I think my desire to host and feed people is the sixty-five year old southerner in me.
I can't remember ever stepping foot into either of my grandmothers' homes while growing up without being asked if I wanted something to eat. It didn't matter if I was hungry, dammit, I was gonna' be forced to eat. While it annoyed me then, I find the memories completely endearing and that particular quality to be one that I hope to carry on in my own home. I don't care if you just had dinner, you will eat these damn cookies and you will drink this glass of wine if you are in this house!
Yesterday, I got to fulfill a small piece of my self-imposed destiny. We showered some of our best friends-- who are expecting a baby girl any day now!-- and I got to feed the people. I enjoyed every moment of it. I made my Memaw's BBQ bacon-wrapped water chestnuts and my own pimento cheese and bacon deviled eggs with chives in honor or my Nana plus a slew of other platters and plates. (For the record: bacon forevaah.)
I didn't have to force feed anyone but I am fairly certain that I made them proud.