By Michaele Weissman
Special to The Washington Post
Wednesday, May 11, 2005; F01
Ask someone who enjoys cooking and entertaining how often their guests reciprocate, and the response is usually a startled laugh that suggests you're on to something. Ask those who accept invitations but don't invite back -- and you get the same reaction. It's an unacknowledged truth of modern life: There are hosts and there are guests -- many of whom get invited back time after time -- but the roles aren't as interchangeable as they used to be. "Tit-for-tat socializing," in the words of San Francisco etiquette writer Charles Purdy, aka Mr. Social Grace, "is sort of old-fashioned." His assessment reflects an attitude shift away from the old standard that he who sups should offer supper in return. But it can be confusing to those who think the reciprocal sharing of food with friends and family is an important social ritual. Fairfax resident Christine Lively, a working mother of three, says she and her husband George can't help wondering if they are being singled out for social rejection. The couple enjoy cooking and they often invite their friends for dinner but are rarely invited back. "Are people going to other people's homes and we're not being invited?" she asks. "Do they think we wouldn't hire a babysitter? Or has that kind of social pressure -- rules requiring guests to reciprocate -- just gone by the wayside?" Nancy Pollard, accomplished cook and owner of La Cuisine, a cookware store in Alexandria, has noticed the change. "Didn't their parents tell them that when you accept an invitation, you are supposed to reciprocate?" she asks. As is the case with many fine cooks, friends and acquaintances often tell Pollard they would invite her . . . but they feel intimidated by her skills. "Competition and jealousy rear their ugly heads," she says, recalling what happened some years ago when she invited a co-worker and his wife to dinner. The perfectly grilled steaks, the Burgundy, the chocolate velvet dessert -- all were a success. As her guests departed, they burbled promises to repeat the favor. "Every time I saw my co-worker, he would recall the evening," Pollard remembers. But there was no return invitation, and the situation turned awkward. "What's sad is, I really don't care how fancy the food is," Pollard says, noting that one of her friends who does not cook recently invited a group over for BLTs, salad and fresh berries. "That was a wonderful evening," she says. In general, Pollard thinks invitations should be reciprocated within a year, though she acknowledges that logistics can get in the way. In many Washington circles, Pollard's idea is considered quaint. "People are just too busy," says Julie Finley, a founding member of the U.S. Committee on NATO and a leading Republican fundraiser. "If you are on the road marching through Eastern Europe or Central Asia for two weeks and you come back for a week, and you have your family and all kinds of priorities, maybe you just can't fit entertaining into your schedule. "Nowadays, no one says, 'I am not going to invite so-and-so because they've been here three times and I haven't been to their home once,' " she says, adding that if her own friends adhered to that standard, she would see even less of them than she already does. Purdy, who dispenses advice in the San Francisco Weekly and is the author of "Urban Etiquette: Marvelous Manners for the Modern Metropolis" (Wildcat Canyon Press), agrees completely. "Reciprocating worked when everyone lived in a suburb and was the same," he says. "Modern people have more complicated social lives. You may live in a tiny city apartment and have a friend with a big fancy house. It's understood that you may not have the means or the space to reciprocate." He thinks what matters is being a good friend and a thoughtful guest. He suggests -- insists, really -- that guests send handwritten thank-you notes "whenever someone feeds you in their home." The redoubtable Judith Martin, in her "Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, Freshly Updated" (W.W. Norton) delivers no sweeping statements on reciprocating invitations, parsing her answers instead. She does suggest that those who do not reciprocate or attempt to explain their behavior might be delivering a message about continuing a social relationship. "Miss Manners believes that it is essential to proper dignified behavior to know how to accept a snub graciously." Some home cooks entertain for the fun of it and don't care if guests reciprocate. Others can't help feeling taken advantage of. Lively, who leans in the latter direction, says that non-reciprocators miss the point that socializing requires give and take: "Offering food to friends and family expresses a bond,"--- not offering it, makes a statement: "To me, sharing food is sacred, but for a lot of people food is status," she adds. But what if you're failing to return the favor because your house doesn't show well? D.C. resident Denise Ward, who works as a consultant for a made-to-order line of women's knitwear, enjoys hosting dinners with adventurous, exotic menus. She reports that a number of friends who come to her parties never reciprocate. Ward says she's known these people "forever," and she doesn't mind: Still, "the thought has crossed my mind that perhaps the reason is that they don't like their homes." You don't have to reciprocate on your own turf; you can invite people out. District resident Eula Ward, Denise Ward's mother-in-law, says that "in black society there are private clubs, social clubs where people take turns entertaining one another. There are members whose apartments are small, and when their turn comes to play hostess, they take you out. And that's just fine." "I don't look for reciprocation. I look for people who help me have a good party," says Susan Hines of Riverdale Park, whose husband, Vernon Archer, was recently elected mayor of the town. A skilled cook and inveterate party-giver, Hines, who works full time and has two children, bubbles with the very spirit of hospitality. As a result, life in the Hines-Archer household is a series of parties and celebrations. With her husband's help, she has hosted an annual New Year's Eve bash for the past 20 years. Three or four times a year, Hines organizes get-togethers, overflowing onto her porch, of the unofficial "Greater Riverdale Park Ladies' Auxiliary" -- 50 women who live nearby, like to laugh and enjoy an evening out. But even someone like Hines can tire of perpetually playing hostess with the mostest, as she recently paused to reconsider: "Why do I have to go to another potluck? Could not one person lay out dinner, invite me over and let me have a good time?" Michaele Weissman is a freelance writer who always reciprocates.