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Come to a Dinner Party in My Tiny Apartment

Social media is awash in Martha Stewart wannabes with their elaborate table settings. There’s a better way

I live in an almost perfect apartment.

The rent is cheap; the floors are hardwood. The balcony looks out to a quiet alleyway where kids play street hockey and people walk their dogs. The unit has a classic Montreal triplex layout: I don’t have a dining room, and the kitchen is long and narrow, housing a small table that seats two people (or three, if we really squeeze in).

When I moved in as a twenty-four-year-old starting a life in her first solo apartment, this seemed like enough. I imagined that, on the rare occasions when I had friends over for dinner, we could crowd into the kitchen or sit on the couch in the living room.

Not that I ever imagined having more than one or two people visit. My first year in Montreal was lonely—the world was still partially shut down from the pandemic, my work and school were entirely remote, and I didn’t have tangible ways of meeting new people. I focused on making my home a space where I loved spending time, hanging art on all of the walls and rummaging through thrift stores for trinkets.

I directed the same energy toward food. Away from the communal kitchens of apartments shared with roommates, I had the time and space to test out new recipes (mushroom risotto) and establish the staples I’d return to often (chickpea stew). Rather than something I did purely to sustain myself, cooking became a source of joy and self-care. Soon, I wanted to share that care with others.

There are few better ways to get to know someone than to share a meal together. Even the act of planning a meal is imbued with intimacy and thought; as I learned about my friends’ tastes and dietary restrictions, I started mentally imagining what I could make for them, designing little menus in my head. An eggplant rigatoni for my vegetarian friend; an arrabbiata for another who adores spicy food.

Having a friend or two over for dinner became a big part of how I socialized with those I grew closest to. Rather than going out to bars where we’d spend too much money and barely be able to hear each other, we gathered in my kitchen as soup simmered on the stove and opened a bottle of wine. And soon, as my social circle grew, so did my desire to host them all together—to fit everyone around one table. But how many of my favourite people could I really squeeze into my tiny kitchen?

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Depending........

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