Antipasto-gate and the Lost Art of Welcoming People In

Let me start by saying this: I would’ve eaten every bite of that antipasto salad.

The peppers. The cheese cubes. The lunch meat rolled up like someone’s grandma taught her how. I wouldn’t have judged her - I would’ve thanked her and asked where she got the dressing.

But apparently, not everyone feels that way.

You’ve probably seen it by now - the viral saga known as Antipasto-gate. A woman proudly brought a homemade antipasto salad to a family gathering and instead of being met with “thank you” or “bless your heart,” she got side-eyed, whispered about, and ultimately… she left. Her, her son, and that salad - out the door. In tears. Humiliated. Heartbroken.

So she took to TikTok to share her story.

Now, I’m not here to argue about what technically belongs in an antipasto dish. I’m sure there’s an Italian grandmother somewhere lighting a prayer candle over this very debate. Personally? I think that salad looked amazing. And I’m confident half the country is out here Googling “how to make antipasto salad” as we speak.

But where I come from - nestled in the folds of Appalachian hills and homemade casseroles - the rule is simple:

If you bring food, you’re family. And if you come empty-handed? You’re still family. You’re just having a rough day.

See, in Appalachia, we don’t check your dish at the door to see if it’s gourmet enough. We don’t rank your contribution based on whether it came from Food City or your kitchen. You show up, and we scoot over. You walk in, and someone hands you a paper plate and says, “Get you some.”

Because food isn’t just food here - it’s an extension of our arms. A bridge. A peace offering. And if you’re going to judge someone’s contribution to the table, maybe you’re the one who needs to take a step back from it.

I don’t know who needed to hear this, but that woman’s antipasto salad? That was the invitation. That was her way of saying, “I want to be part of this.”

And Lord, if we can’t make room for a person who comes to us with a heart full of effort and a Tupperware full of cold cuts, what are we even doing?

So here’s my Appalachian take on Antipasto-gate:

I hope the next time someone walks into your home - salad in hand, nerves in tow - you open the door a little wider. I hope you compliment the peppers. I hope you ask for seconds.

And I hope you remember that the heart behind the plate always matters more than what’s on it.

Because love doesn’t always show up in fine china.

Sometimes, it shows up in plastic wrap and ham.