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Kiwi Barbecue

Kiwi Barbecue
Carl at the grill
I hosted my first "Hey-bring-the-whole-family-too-many-people-stuffed-into-a-house" dinner party tonight. What started as an invitation for my friend, Jade, and her family, morphed into, "Maybe I should invite some other folks and make it a party." I'm going to blame Sean for that one. Without fail, any get-together at our home was preceded by, "Hey, why don't we also invite..." Sean flicked out that suggestion anywhere from 1 week to 1 hour before the event. I figure he saw it as a way to reconnect with friends we hadn't seen in awhile, and to connect those friends to each other. He was like a crochet needle, looping one person in with the next, in with the next...
Feeding the hungry rascals
Anyways, tonight's dinner for 7 became a barbecue for 20. Don't tell my flatmate – it's her house (this is a joke, because she often reads this blog, and knew about the party beforehand). I asked Helen, the co-founder of a group for widowed parents, to the fest. She told 3 friends, and before you know it – instant party. It's the kind of thing I did in Spokane. There's something about a home that's been well-laughed in. It's never the same again. I'm not talking about cookie crumbs in the carpet or wine stains on the wall (and Amy, if you are reading this, none of that happened tonight), but instead, the memories of Carl tending the grill, Jade spooning mango mash into her baby daughter's mouth, or Robbie scrubbing up at the sink. You remember the faces around your dining table or kitchen counter – they add to home's warmth and character.
Janet & Honor
Fiona, Callen, Coco
It's not even my house. I asked my flatmate before we moved in if it would be okay to entertain. "Sure," she said. "As long as I have a heads-up." Deal. Plus, I like things neat, so post-party clean-up is a no-brainer.

If someone invites you to a party in New Zealand, they'll often ask you to "bring a plate." This doesn't mean they lack dinner ware – it means potluck – bring a dish to share. I didn't even ask my guests to bring anything -they offered. I learned in my new migrants' class (and through experience) Kiwis feel compelled to contribute. Saying, "It's alright, don't bring a thing," is futile. Pick an item and be gracious, or you could wind up with 5 extra kilos of meat and 2 dozen bread rolls when the night is over. There are worse fates. 
Small sample of what guests brought
Tonight's feast included the aforementioned side of cow, an entire roast chicken with lemon, potato salad, green salad, sausage rolls, a couple dozen bread rolls, a pavlova (Kiwi national dessert: "...Colloquially referred to as "pav", it is a cake similar to meringue with a crispy crust and soft, light inner..." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pavlova_%28food%29

Also, Kiwis eat heaps of meat. I told one invitee I'd bought chicken sausages and marinated chicken. "I love chicken, but the boys like meat, so we'll bring some burgers, sausages, bread rolls..." NZ has one of the highest per capita rates of meat consumption in the world. Numbers from a couple years ago show New Zealanders eat nearly 200 pounds of meat per person each year (and the number has dropped as meat prices rise): http://www.fmcg.co.nz/news/national/163-meat-consumption-decreases Think about that before buying tofu burgers for your next NZ bash (not that you planned to, anyways!)
Helen's kiwi pavlova
Thanks to my industrious (and probably very hungry) guests, the meat got grilled, children got fed and dishes got rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher. One hour after everyone's left, I've swept the floor, hand washed whatever wouldn't fit in the dishwasher, and put away food. The guests are gone, but they've left behind snippets of conversation, kilos of meat and even a partial pavlova. The kitchen looks as if nothing hit it. Shh...don't tell my flatmate. She'll never know.
"After"

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