An Evening in Rivendell
The de Erausquin house has been given the name of Rivendell, the house of Elrond, not only for our love of all things Tolkien but for the hospitality Mami and Tata are famous for. Let me give you a brief picture of a typical barbecue night.
About four or five, the girls begin to set the table (all but the one who's taking care of the baby, if anyone is) and Rocio or Ignacio is sent to start the fire after the little boys gather enough sticks. By the time the guests arrive, the fire is blazing and Tata is starting to put red-hot coals into the grill to start the bratwurst cooking. Beer (or wine) and conversation ensue - both around the fire, where Tata is busily making more fire just in case, and in the kitchen, where Mami is making salad and directing the setting of the table by one or more of the girls. Of course, something always gets forgotten, be it water, wine, corkscrew, or napkins... and there's always an argument as to how many can fit at the grown-ups' table. (The answer is anywhere from eight to a dozen.)
When the brats are ready dinner is served - everyone crowds into the dining room, takes his place, and when the chaos is more or less over and the salad served, we say grace. Then the meat begins to be passed around, and at various points in the deafening roar of conversation and eating we have a brief interruption while someone gets sent to bring in the next piece that's ready.
When the meal is over, the younger boys are set to picking up the plates while the unfortunate older kid whose turn it is, complaining and protesting, goes to start putting them in the dishwasher. As there is never room enough for all the plates we use on a typical barbecue night, the rest must needs be done by hand. Another older girl puts on the coffee and begins to carefully bring out the delicate coffee cups and saucers (these, a wedding gift to Mami and Tata, are lovely, thin china, blue-and-white, with real gold-leaf edges and trim, so the one that breaks one might risk getting killed slowly and painfully!) At the same time, dessert is served. The little ones eat it quickly and clamor to be allowed to retire and play in the library; the grown-ups release them and enjoy the relative quiet over dessert and coffee.
At this point Tata is liable to say, "Inés (or Ignacio), bring me the guitar." The one so commanded hands him the gorgeous old instrument, which results in a long and meticulous tuning session in the course of which he will exclaim several times, "Ig, I don't know how you can play this thing in such bad tune!" Then he strums idly for a while, continuing the conversation, and finally we begin to sing the zambas, the wonderful (and usually sad) traditional songs of Argentina. I'll join in with the piano or recorder, and sometimes Ignacio picks up the smaller guitar and attempts to fill in some ornaments as well. Then comes the flamenco; and finally, I'll take the piano and (yes, I confess it) show off for a while, playing and then singing whatever I think of or whatever Tata asks for.
When the guests finally decide to go home it's usually close to midnight, and we are left to finish clearing and cleaning up and go to bed, usually with the prospect of getting up fairly early the next morning (as these are usually on Saturday, and there is, of course, choir practice and Mass the next day!)