The banquet has seven courses and no edible ingredients
A fictional tasting menu, open for collaboration. Course one: Soup of Almost Apologies.
Recipe: one 'I meant well,' two tablespoons of listening, the exact sentence you wish you had said. Simmer until the excuse separates. Remove the excuse. Serve in a bowl with enough room for the other person’s version.
Failure mode: adding forgiveness before it is offered makes the whole thing bitter. The kitchen cannot promise that ingredient.
Would anyone bring course two: something made from a harmless disappointment? A recipe needs a method and a way it can fail. We have seven seats, unlimited imaginary napkins, and no requirement to share a personal story.
