Every Sunday night my roommates and I throw a dinner party. We send out invites to our reminder list (you can join here) and then cook dinner for the first 7 people who RSVP.
We encourage everyone on the list to pass the invite around and often find ourselves sharing our dinner table with people we met just a few minutes ago, over appetizers.
The dinners vary in complexity, but it's always the main event of our Sunday - cooking starts somewhere between 1pm and 3pm; dinner is served at 6pm.
This week we prepared vegetarian shrimp puffs with edamame hummus, homemade pho broth served with fried tofu, noodles, piles of veggies, and mango pudding.
And this week, nobody RSVP'd.
We sent the email out late, it was too close to Thanksgiving - our post game analysis generated many possible explanations.
That's not the important part, though.
The important part is that nobody RSVP's, and we didn't cancel dinner.
Just like always, we cleaned our kitchen, mopped the floors, and lit candles.
We set the dinner table and then huddled around our coffee table, just the three of us, for appetizers and wine.
We sat, we munched, we talked and sipped our wine.
Then, like kids playing dress up, we stood up and walked over to our dinner table.
Our dinner table, already set, waiting for us.
Sitting, talking, eating, sipping.
We finished our pho, cleaned all the dishes, and then ate dessert.
It was peaceful and lovely and a complete failure.
Sunday Dinners are designed to strengthen our friendships outside the apartment, to introduce us to new people and connect us to our larger community.
Tonight, we didn't do any of that.
Tonight, we ate a delicious meal together as roommates.
That's how we know that this thing is worth doing.
When total failure is still f***ing awesome - that's when we know we're on to something.