Steve liked to cook. Because Steve liked to cook, he did it often, and because he did it often, he became quite good at it.
Because he became quite good at it, he didn’t mind cooking for others. Not because he wanted to show off, or because he courted attention, but because he knew what he could do and he liked to make other people happy.
This led to what became an annual event where he cooked for a number of guests. It was suggested by his friend Callie, who always looked out for him and thought she knew what was best for him; she enjoyed his cooking and wanted others to enjoy it too.
The first year of this event was a huge success. Ten people, including Steve and Callie, crammed into Callie’s house, and while everyone conversed excitedly in the dining room, Steve cooked up a storm. He had checked tastes, asked about allergies, and felt he knew what to do. He brought out a delicious platter, and as he lifted the lid from it, there were ooohs and ahhs from the guests.
Not just the food: the atmosphere buzzed and popped, propelled by what was on the plate, but also from the genial and upbeat vibe Callie and Steve created.
It seemed rare for there to be something of substance, underpinned by kindness and an effort to do something simple and do it well.
Everyone went home happy, keen to repeat the event again.
The next year was just as good. Steve cooked the same thing and noted the oohs and aahs with pride.
For various reasons he didn’t understand however, by year three the number of guests was down to eight; by year five it was down to six, and by year seven he found himself cooking for just him and Callie.
‘Where is everyone?’ he asked, as he tucked into the platter.
‘They’re not coming,’ Callie replied.
Steve smiled. ‘I know that. But why?’
Callie sighed. As she scooped a small spoonful from the platter to her plate, she looked bored. ‘Maybe it’s because we have the same thing every year.’
Steve stopped and looked at her. ‘What do you mean? I thought they liked it?’
‘They did.’ She said.
Steve was incredulous. ‘Well why didn’t anyone fucking tell me? I could do anything. I thought this was what they wanted.’
‘They thought you knew.’
‘How exactly would I know?’ he said, throwing a spoon onto the table. As the frown lifted, he stood, picked up the platter and tipped it onto the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ Callie said.
‘It’s all just a waste,’ Steve said.
And that day, they both went hungry.