I spent three days preparing for a visit from my in-laws. I was born in the countryside, where it was a tradition to welcome guests with a generously laid table. Since childhood, I had been taught that guests should leave well-fed and satisfied, even if it means spending the last of your money.
In our home, the table was always filled with traditional dishes: platters of cold cuts and cheeses, vegetables, and various appetizers.
Our daughter Emily got married a few months ago. We had met her husband’s parents before, but only on neutral ground. They had never been to our home, so I was very nervous about how everything would turn out.
I was the one who suggested they come over on Sunday so we could get to know each other better. My mother-in-law agreed, and I immediately started preparing: I bought groceries, stocked up on fruits and ice cream, and even baked my signature cake.
Hospitality runs in my blood, so I did my best. My in-laws turned out to be intelligent people who worked as university lecturers.
I was worried it would be hard to find common topics to talk about, but the evening went wonderfully. We talked about our children’s future, laughed a lot, and stayed up late.
Emily and her husband joined us only in the evening. At the end of the gathering, my in-laws invited us to their home the following week. This meant they had really enjoyed our hospitality.
I was very pleased with the invitation and even bought a new suit. Of course, I baked another cake—I don’t like store-bought ones. My wife wanted to have lunch before we left, but I didn’t let her: “Your mother said she’s preparing food, and if you go there already full, she might get offended!”
When we arrived, I was impressed by their apartment’s interior: elegant renovations, expensive furniture. But my surprise reached its peak when I saw their table.
It was… empty. “Would you like some tea or coffee?” my mother-in-law asked politely. The only treat was the cake I had brought, which she praised and asked for the recipe. Tea with cake—that was our entire menu.
My wife was hungry; I could see the disappointment in her eyes. I told my in-laws that we had to leave soon. We politely thanked them, and they said they would visit us the following week. Of course, they enjoyed it—our table is always full.
On the way home, I thought about the differences in hospitality traditions between our families. Meanwhile, my wife was thinking about the roasted chicken waiting for her at home, the one I didn’t let her eat that morning.
