Last Christmas, at the exact moment the roast came out of the oven, four adults stood in our galley kitchen at once, and nobody could move. Sam was holding the pan. Our friend was holding a stack of plates. Another friend was trying to get ice out of the freezer. And I was wedged against the fridge, laughing too hard to give directions. Olive watched from the top of the bookshelf like a lifeguard.
We're doing it again this year, the 25th is six days away, and I've had a year to think about how to do it better. If you're hosting in a one-bedroom, here's everything we learned the first time.
Decide the number, then stick to it
Our apartment is 640 square feet, and the living room holds a couch, a small round table that seats four if we're friendly, and two folding chairs from the hall closet. Six people is possible but miserable. Four is comfortable. So our Christmas is us and two friends who don't travel home for the holidays, same as last year.
I used to feel guilty about not inviting more people. Now I think a small, unhurried dinner beats a crowded one where the host spends the whole evening doing dishes.
Plan the menu around one oven
The real limit in a small kitchen isn't counter space, though that's tight. It's the oven. Ours fits one roasting pan and maybe a small baking dish beside it. Last year I planned three things that needed the oven at 400 degrees at the same time, which is how we ended up eating the potatoes about forty minutes after everything else.
This year's plan:
- One thing in the oven: a roast chicken with potatoes underneath it in the same pan.
- One thing on the stove: green beans with garlic, done in the last ten minutes.
- Two things that need no heat: a big salad and a cheese plate for while the chicken roasts.
- Dessert made the day before: one of our friends is bringing a pie, and I'm making a batch of cookies on the 24th.
Everything that can be chopped, mixed or plated ahead goes into containers in the fridge on Christmas Eve. On the day, my job is mostly turning things on and off.
Reset the room before anyone arrives
Our living room is also my office, which means on a normal day there's a monitor, a keyboard, a notebook and at least three mugs on the table. For Christmas, the desk setup goes onto the bed, under a blanket, and the bedroom door closes. Out of sight entirely.
A few other things that make the space work for four:
- Coats go on the bed. Our hall closet is too small for guests' coats, so the bedroom becomes the coat room, on top of the hidden desk stuff.
- A drinks station away from the kitchen. A tray on the bookshelf with glasses, a pitcher of water, and whatever we're drinking. This single change kept people out of the kitchen more than anything else last year.
- A trash bag hung from a cabinet knob. Our little kitchen bin fills up in about an hour during a dinner. A second bag on a knob by the door saves trips.
- Run the dishwasher, then empty it. We don't have one. So the version for us is: sink completely empty before anyone comes over, and a dish tub on the floor of the bathroom for overflow. Glamorous? No. Effective? Very.
The tree question
Our tree is a three-foot artificial one on a side table by the window, which keeps it off the floor and mostly out of Olive's reach. On Christmas Day it gets slid back an extra foot so the table can open up. Small tree, more elbow room.
Keeping it calm for us, too
The thing I forgot last year was that I live here. When the guests left at ten, the apartment looked like a storm had come through, and I had to be online for work on the 26th. This year we're keeping a few rules for ourselves:
- Guests are invited for 3 p.m., dinner at 5. Long afternoon, early night.
- Paper napkins, real plates. A compromise between nice and sane.
- We clean the kitchen together before bed, then leave the rest for the morning.
- The cat gets the bedroom for the afternoon with her bed, water, and a treat. She's much happier that way, and no one has to guard the cheese plate.
When I asked Sam what he remembered most from last year, I expected him to say the kitchen traffic jam. He said it was the part after dinner, when the four of us sat on the couch and floor with pie and the tree lights on and the heater-warm room went quiet for a minute. That's the part we're planning around this time. The rest is just logistics.
