ON The Simple Pleasure of Gathering Before Noon
I fear I may be entering my breakfast-party era, and frankly, I’m rather delighted about it.
Four years ago, for my 35th birthday, I decided to host a brunch at home. There were quiches, bagels, cocktail shrimp, deviled eggs, fresh fruit, and enough food to suggest I was expecting considerably more company than I had invited. I loved every minute of it. The preparations, the beautiful spread, the excuse to bring everyone together, and perhaps most importantly, the fact that we could celebrate an occasion and still have the entire afternoon ahead of us.
I’ve always loved entertaining. Give me an excuse to pull out my good china, arrange fresh flowers, and prepare something savory, and I’m a happy woman. But lately, I’ve been reconsidering the hours in which we do all this entertaining.
I recently hosted my girlfriends for a sleepover, and while the evening (and wee hours of the morning) was wonderful, I found myself thinking about how much I enjoy gathering earlier in the day. Perhaps it’s age. Perhaps it’s the appeal of being back in my pajamas at a respectable hour. Or perhaps I’ve simply discovered that breakfast deserves a little more recognition as a social occasion.
For my 39th birthday this year, a dear friend arrived at my house with a homemade quiche. We sat down together for a little birthday breakfast, and I thought it was one of the loveliest ways to celebrate. No elaborate reservations, no complicated arrangements, and no need to make an entire day of the occasion. Just a thoughtful gesture, something delicious, and time spent together.
And really, isn’t that what we’re all looking for?
With the cost of practically everything increasing, entertaining can begin to feel like an expensive undertaking. I adore an elaborate dinner party as much as the next woman, but there’s a considerable difference between preparing a homemade quiche and making Beef Wellington for eight people.
Breakfast is wonderfully forgiving. A few things can be prepared the evening before, a casserole can be slipped into the oven, coffee can be brewed, and a basket of fresh bread can make even the simplest spread feel special. Add some fruit, perhaps a little jam and butter, and suddenly you’ve created an occasion without spending the equivalent of a weekend getaway.
And if we’re being perfectly candid, nobody is expecting a seven-course tasting menu at 9:30 in the morning.
But I don’t think the appeal is entirely practical.
There’s something nostalgic about gathering in the kitchen in the morning. Think about how many scenes in our favorite television shows and movies unfold around a breakfast table or kitchen island. Someone is flipping pancakes, another person is pouring coffee, a newspaper is spread across the counter, and an entire family somehow manages to exchange meaningful dialogue before leaving for the day.
Naturally, the kitchen is immaculate, everyone is beautifully dressed, and nobody seems particularly concerned about being late.
I don’t know many households operating quite like that on an ordinary Tuesday.
Still, those scenes remind me of childhood mornings in the 1990s, when cartoons played on the television and my parents flipped pancakes on the griddle. There was something comforting about the familiar sounds of the kitchen, the smell of breakfast cooking, and the feeling that the whole day was still waiting to unfold.
Perhaps that’s part of what I’m trying to recapture.
Morning has a different sort of energy. There’s a freshness to it, a little optimism, and the sense that anything might happen before the day is through. Evening gatherings often give us an opportunity to unwind, blow off steam, and recount whatever frustrations the day has delivered. And goodness knows, there’s a time and place for that, preferably with a generous pour of something lovely.
But breakfast conversations tend to begin somewhere else.
We talk about plans, upcoming adventures, errands, things we’re looking forward to, and whatever happens to be occupying our minds. We catch up, compare our never-ending to-do lists, and perhaps leave feeling a little more connected before heading off to tackle them.
I also rather enjoy the way a breakfast gathering naturally winds down.
Someone has an appointment. Another friend needs to run errands. One guest leaves after her second cup of coffee, while another lingers a little longer. People depart in waves, and nobody needs to orchestrate a grand conclusion to the festivities.
Before you know it, the dishes are in the dishwasher, the flowers are still looking lovely, and you have an entire afternoon to yourself.
What a concept!
And while I’m certainly not suggesting we abandon candlelit dinners, cocktail parties, or evenings that turn into the sort of stories we tell for years, I do wonder why we reserve so much of our entertaining enthusiasm for after sunset.
Why shouldn’t breakfast warrant the good dishes? Why not invite a few girlfriends over for coffee and homemade pastries? Why shouldn’t a birthday begin with quiche and champagne instead of ending with a complicated dinner reservation?
Perhaps we could all use a few more opportunities to gather without making such a production of it.
I’ve come to appreciate that hospitality doesn’t have to be elaborate to be memorable. Sometimes the most thoughtful invitation is simply an opportunity to sit down, enjoy something homemade, and spend an hour or two in good company.
So consider this my little campaign to make mornings chic again.
Pull out the china. Put on the coffee. Bake the quiche. Invite your friends.
And when everyone has gone home, enjoy the rest of your day knowing you’ve already done something rather wonderful with it.
