Today’s random act is very, very deliberate. For the last several weeks, a friend and I have plotted and planned for tonight’s party. What started as a simple get-together to send off a friend has transformed into a North Carolina-themed bonanza.
“Pinterest will be the death of me,” I only half-joke.
We offer party guests our own version of low country cuisine: Granny’s grits, seaside slaw, sweet potato fries and smoked pulled pork. To wet your whistle, guests may choose from hillbilly brew or Mama’s juice (both white and red).
A burlap-covered table holds Bubba’s Bubbly Bar. Guests mix and match lemonade, orange juice or apple juice with champagne before adding raspberries or slices of green apples or wedges of clementines.
Wildflowers happily sit in tin cans we’ve instructed our guest of honor to collect and clean. Did we need the cans? Nah. It’s a total haze and fun for us. Yes, we’re that kind of friend.
We finish setting up with fifteen minutes to spare, more than enough time to walk around and admire our efforts.
“We’re feeders,” I say. A friend in Texas throws parties for the record books. One mid-week wine tasting soiree she threw together at the last minute included different foods for each wine and a sommelier who explained each vintage. She’s the one who introduced me to the term and served as an excellent teacher on how to become a first-class feeder.
Feeders, like the name implies, find pleasure in serving huge amounts of food to friends and neighbors. My husband Chaz is a feeder, too. For a brunch for eight, we’ll prepare food for eighteen. Food is a tangible way to show people that you care. Nothing says “I love you” than a doggie bag, right?
So, grab some bubbly, girls! Raise your glass! A toast to our friend and best wishes and good luck!
And don’t forget to grab some food on the way out.