Are We Convivial or What?

Troy O’Connor (Data Consultant): It has to start with a dinner party. That’s how you make friends in a new place, right? 

That’s what this new app keeps telling me anyway. Conviv-E–Ality. Have you seen the ads? They’re following me everywhere. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, the other two websites I visit daily. I saw one sheet at a bus stop in Midtown just last week. I’ve been in New York for three months, and I haven’t met a single person outside of work, haven’t been to any kind of party, and I didn’t even know the meaning of convivial before I made my account. So tonight, I’m pulling the trigger, accepting the invitation, showing up with a bottle of wine, and knocking on the door. 

I mean, It’s only three courses; how bad could it be? 

People aren’t getting murdered at dinner parties these days, right?

James He (Creative Consultant): I can’t believe we’re doing this. I mean, really, a dinner party? With strangers? From an app? This sounds like something people did in 2005, back when people still read and wrote blogs and enjoyed flash mobs... Even the name Conviv-E-Ality sounds like a bad joke from the dawn of dot-coms. I’m sure the company is going to tank any day now. Who could enjoy this? It’s like some kind of wacky social experiment people partook in just so they could talk about it at a real dinner party with their real friends to laugh at the strangers they forced to spend time with. 

I guess the problem is Johanna and I can’t make any real friends. 

Johanna Vu (Project Coordinator): What James doesn’t know is that I will divorce him if we don’t develop some kind of social life. I cannot spend another night alone with him in our small little flat in the Village. He doesn’t even like to eat out. We never even went to Momofuku, and now it’s gone. Who lives in the Village and doesn’t go to Momofuku? 

There is something deeply wrong with a couple that doesn’t have any friends. He talks about having kids, but how can we have kids when we can’t even get a bowling date with someone from his office? 

I knew I shouldn’t have accepted this job; I knew we shouldn’t have left Rhode Island. We’re not ready for this. At least in Providence, we had my sister. At least we had my high school friends. You know James was homeschooled? He doesn’t even have friends from college and still has the nerve to think he’s better than people. 

Gustav Lundgren (The Chef): Dinner parties are not about food. They are a theatre, just like a restaurant is a theatre. Performance is key. My performance, the performance of the table, the performance of the guests. It’s a ballet of moving parts. This is what they taught me at culinary school back in Sweden, and this I told the people behind the screen at Conviv-E-Ality. When they approached me with a chance to come to New York and cook for strangers, how could I say no? 

The guests are almost all here. The first course is plated, the stew is simmering, and the schnapps are in the freezer decanting. It’s my first dinner for this website; it’s one of my first in the country. I’ve done some private’s here and there but nothing like this. Nothing with this much magnitude or importance. Tonight, we’re changing lives, and we’re molding minds. 

Where the hell are the last two guests?

Shalini Merchant (Restaurant Manager): Late, late, late, late, late. Why am I always late in this city? 

It’s because I live in Queens, isn’t it? 

The best food is in Queens, too. 

My sister booked me this dinner as a belated birthday present. I told her to just get me a gift certificate at Boulud, but no, she said, this way I could meet people. This way, I won’t just be sitting alone at the bar chatting with the service staff. People, right? Who even likes people anymore? At least I wasn’t the last one to show up.

Lee Wimbish (Museum Technician): I stood outside for twenty minutes wondering if I had brought the right bottle of wine. Should I go back to the store and exchange it? I bought something red from Italy. The bottle says Barbera. The guy at the shop told me it’s a great table wine. Goes well with everything. They didn’t tell us what we were eating, so I went wide. I kept thinking, god, what if it’s Sichuan food? That won’t go with this at all. I almost went back to the store three times. Then I saw this beautiful woman run up from the front steps and knock on the door. Thought, let’s just see what they’re serving and hope for the best. At the very least, I’ll get to see how she handles a fork and knife. 

first course: pickled herring /ˌpɪkəldˌhɛrɪŋ/ 

[noun] herring preserved in a pickling liquid (usually brine or vinegar) 

James He (Creative Consultant): They didn’t tell us it was going to be Swedish food. They didn’t tell us anything, really. They said modern, casual, fine dining in a rustic setting. First of all, the place was not rustic. It was clearly just the inside of this Swedish dude’s apartment. It was rustic in a way that any decrepit, falling-down apartment from the 50’s in New York is. And then he served us pickled fish. 

He said it was his grandmother’s recipe. Well, one of them was. There were three. One with red onions and some kind of berry on the side. One had his grandmother's vinegar blend, and the last one had mustard in it. Imagine taking a knife through a jar of mustard, and you find multiple tiny filets of fish inside. And then you have to spread that on dark bread, which is so hard and so full of seeds that it doesn’t even go bad. This bread has a shelf life longer than baked beans in a can, I swear to god.

Johanna Vu (Project Coordinator): Is James being an asshole? I knew he would be an asshole about this. I told him not to, but I knew he would be. 

I liked the pickled fish, uh herring, thing. It was quaint. It was fishy. The bread had seeds. It almost felt like it was good for you.

Lee Wimbish (Museum Technician): We both live in Queens. Can you believe that? They are just a couple of stops away from each other. We even go to the same dumpling place in Flushing. She’s only been living there for three years; she’s originally from Long Island. I don’t tell her I’m from upstate; instead, I say Philadelphia. Philly’s cooler than upstate. 

The food? Oh, the food was cool, too. It doesn’t go with my wine at all, but we’re drinking it anyway. The fish is really, uh, fishy. And this chef guy is intense. He keeps looking at me whenever I take a bite.

Gustav Lundgren (The Chef): Eye contact is important to maintain with your guests at all times. How else can you tell if they’re enjoying themselves? I think they all loved the herring with rye. It’s a Swedish classic, so of course they did. Although the tall man with the girlfriend isn’t eating fast enough.

Shalini Merchant (Restaurant Manager): There is a man from Queens who has been flirting with me since we met on the doorstep. He brought a bottle of Barbera that is clearly made for export only and I do not know how to tell him I haven’t slept with a man since I was 16 years old. 

The herring with the mustard sauce is delightful. 

(My last girlfriend took me on a lot of business trips to Sweden.)

Troy O’Connor (Data Consultant): This is the best dinner party I have ever been to. The chef has a big white hat and a blonde mustache. This clearly troubled couple is about to break up in front of us, and there is a very awkward conversation about same-sex relationships just waiting to happen. 

Nobody has said a single word to me. 

Oh, and the food is disgusting.

second course: flying jacob /flyːˈgandɛ jɑːˈkɔp/ 

[noun] a Swedish casserole composed of chicken, cream, chili sauce, bananas, roasted peanuts and bacon

Johanna Vu (Project Coordinator): Seriously? They couldn’t have just made us Swedish meatballs? Everybody loves meatballs. People go to IKEA for a reason. I’m open-minded, but this is ridiculous. Chicken, cream, chili, banana, and bacon? It’s like he threw together everything he had in his fridge and called it a dish. James is even more furious than I am. I’ve got to hold his hand under the table just to calm him down. We haven’t touched in a while, so that’s something.

Gustav Lundgren (The Chef): I think the couple is angry with me, but I don’t care. I think I’m getting angry with everybody. I explained the context to these people, and they didn’t even look up from their plates. Where’s the dance? Where’s the reciprocation? 

The Flying Jacob is a single dish of modern Swedish cuisine. Born out of modernization and abandoning Swedish culinary traditions, people demanded American casseroles. Yes, Ove Jacobson might have been late for a dinner party and might have just thrown everything he had into the oven, but he created a revolution. Sweden’s number one food magazine, Allt Om Mat published the recipe in 1976. If you ask any Swedish child who ate food in the 80s, they will have a fond memory of a Flying Jacob. In a way, it’s more Swedish than meatballs ever were.

Troy O’Connor (Data Consultant): Maybe people do die at dinner parties these days. I’m not even going to try this one. It looks like gingerbread with bacon in it. At least the couple across from me finally looked in my direction. They want me to join in their outrage, in the indignation of it all. The dude is trying to get Conviv-E-Ality customer service on the phone right now. We haven’t even opened the bottle of wine I brought. Is it weird if I take it back with me?

James He (Creative Consultant): The people from this stupid app need to pick up the phone right now and refund our money. It was only 40$ each but still. I told Johanna this was a stupid idea. The other guests here aren’t even interesting. There’s a guy named Troy who keeps looking at everybody with this lonely, desperate face thing... I think he’s from outside Boston. And what the hell is wrong with this chef? He actually expects us to eat this? He keeps poking his head through the kitchen door to check how much we’ve eaten. Me and Johanna aren’t touching it, I’ll tell you that much. I can’t even believe the two from Queens are halfway through their plates.

Lee Wimbish (Museum Technician): I can’t believe how much this woman actually likes this food. I’m trying to keep up with her just to save face but I don’t think I can finish. I could almost get with it if they took out the cream, the chili sauce, and the banana. Almost. 

Still, it’s all gonna be worth it later when we’re holding hands over dessert.

Shalini Merchant (Restaurant Manager): Chicken chili and cream? Good. Bananas and peanuts? Good. 

Bacon? Goooood.

dessert: pepparkaka /ˈpipɑrˌkɑkːu/ 

[noun] Swedish gingerbread cookie generally served together with sharp, blue molded cheese 

Troy O’Connor (Data Consultant): I mean, he didn’t throw it, throw it. He kind of just tossed it on the table and screamed a lot. It was the cherry on top of the whole night. The guy from the couple almost got smacked with a frying pan, and the other guy’s heart was clearly ripped in two, but the dessert was seriously delicious. 

Spicy gingerbread and blue cheese. Who knew? 

I didn’t catch everything the Chef was yelling, but I definitely heard him say something about Sweden’s greatest culinary achievement, and I had no choice but to agree.

Johanna Vu (Project Coordinator): When he threw the dessert on the table, it actually looked really good. I love gingerbread cookies. I love making gingerbread houses too. I wonder if they do that in Sweden? Anyway, I didn’t get to try it because of the whole thing between James and the chef, but I will definitely be on the lookout moving forward. 

Gustav Lundgren (The Chef): They didn’t even try the Flying Jacob. Three plates and not a single bite. How could I not take offense at that? I’m sorry I yelled, really. I’m actually not sorry I yelled. They deserved it. I’m sorry I wasted my time. I only put the pepparkaka on the table because I know the woman on the end has been to Malmö many times. I knew she would appreciate it, and she told me as much about it herself. 

Now, the tall man with the girlfriend? He deserved everything he got.

James He (Creative Consultant): Somebody’s ass is getting sued. You know how I know somebody’s ass is getting sued? Because I’m the litigious type. Either Mr. Sweden himself, or Conviv-E-Ality, or all the people who just stood by and watched me get threatened by a man with a big white hat. 

Threatened with a blade, I might add. 

Shalini Merchant (Restaurant Manager): It wasn’t even that big of a deal. They had some words; the chef raised his frying pan in the air, waved his knife around a little, and the dude ran out of the apartment. It’s nothing you don’t see in a hundred New York kitchens every single day. 

I had a blast, to be honest. Conviv-E-Ality, if you’re ever looking for service managers in this equation, sign me up. The chef even let me take the leftover pepparkaka back home.

Lee Wimbish (Museum Technician): I’m sure you’re laughing, but I figured it out. Is that OK? As soon as she started talking about which hills growing which grapes got the best sun in Piemonte, I knew she was out of my league. Still, she gave me the name of her restaurant, and I’m going to stop by sometime. 

I mean, we had this crazy Swedish experience together, right? We almost saw a guy get stabbed. That’s gotta mean something.

Damiano Shephard (Conviv-E-Ality CEO): Look, almost everybody had a great time. There was an incident, sure, but a few of them even kept in touch. We should have done our research a bit better. Usually, we don’t want the guests to know anything about the food they are eating. The algorithm wasn’t working at full capacity, but we’re working with Spotify now. We almost have it. 

And you know what? When we offered them all a free trip to Stockholm afterward, everybody accepted. 

We just didn’t tell them we booked them in at Gustav’s restaurant.