Last month, we were supposed to have a Hazelmade photoshoot. We had a plan, a whole new photo direction, we were going to step out of the photo studio and into something different than anything we've done before.
The concept: A group of friends texts each other on a Thursday night and says “do you want to come over for dinner?” The host grabs a box of pasta and jarred tomato sauce from the pantry. One guest stops for a bottle of cheap wine on the way over. Another guest brings cookies in a plastic clamshell from the grocery store bakery. They throw together a table in the backyard. A summer night no one planned for, but happily enjoyed.
Unfortunately, the shoot got cancelled (lots of love to my friend and photographer, Caleb, who is recovering from appendix surgery!). But the models we scheduled for the shoot were my actual friends, and we decided to take the concept and run with it, having our own impromptu pasta night in the backyard.
It took all of my willpower to keep things simple. And it ended up being just as delightful as any other dinner party I've had.
This may not be surprising, but I love hosting. I love making food people for people to enjoy. I love getting out the good glasses and plates, arranging fresh flowers and pouring delicious drinks with little garnishes. The over-the-top experience with all the bells and whistles is my love language.
But in the spirit of the original photoshoot concept, I challenged myself to really lean into the casual, laidback pace of the evening. No homemade pasta, no sauce from scratch. No slicing and dicing. Just throwing a pot of water on the stove and opening a jar. It took all of my willpower to keep things simple. And it ended up being just as delightful as any other dinner party I've had.
As I was preparing everything, I noticed myself falling on old instincts. At the grocery store, I reached for the block of fresh parmesan and had to stop myself. In the spirit of the easygoing, low-effort evening, I grabbed the plastic tub of pre-shredded parmesan instead.
Then, as I gathered all the dishes and plates to take to our fold-out table in the backyard, I saw the shredded parmesan in the plastic tub and reached for a beautiful bowl to serve it in. Again, I had to stop myself.
It was such a challenge to resist the impulse to polish every detail. As the host, I take the responsibility of orchestrating a beautiful evening seriously. From the menu, to the plating, to the atmosphere, it's a kind of craft, like filling a page in a sketchbook.
But in letting go of some of the details, I realized the night can still be magical with some rough edges. No one even noticed the parmesan container. No one cared.
In fact, the whole night was easy. Everyone arrived at 6:00, and we were eating by 6:30. We spent the evening in the backyard. After we finished eating we piled the plates to one side, not worried about the cleanup, and played Uno long into the evening. At one point, someone asked what time it was, and we realized all of a sudden it was after midnight.
The reality of the next day's obligations came crashing back in, and everyone scrambled to get home to bed, alarms set for work the next morning. The evening's invitation had expired, but we all left full and happy, feeling the way you feel after the best parties come to an end.
Everyday life means cancelling and rescheduling plans. It's tomato sauce spilled on the white tablecloth. It's leaving the floor unswept, because no one will notice anyway.
I wanted this summer's photoshoot to be a little bit looser than our usual style because I want Hazelmade to be a part of your everyday life—and everyday life is messy.
Everyday life means cancelling and rescheduling plans. It's tomato sauce spilled on the white tablecloth. It's leaving the floor unswept, because no one will notice anyway.
I will always covet the details. Whenever I step into the role of the host, it's deeply important to me to take care of my guests and to curate a special, memorable night for everyone. I always reach for the good plates. But sometimes that perfection, that level of planning and prepping, is what keeps us from spending time with each other.
This was a lesson in balance. In the future, I know I'll still spend time cleaning the house and hours preparing meals from scratch. But I will also carve more space for the thrown-together moments, when everyone miraculously has an evening free and wants to spend it together.
But maybe next time I reach for the nice bowl, I won't stop myself. I'll never stop being someone who indulges in the details, even if I learn to let some of them go.
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