I moved the patio table away from the back door and had to think about the chairs again. They had been fine where they were. For an ordinary dinner, anyway.

This dinner would have someone cooking outside, with equipment coming through our narrow side entrance. I kept forgetting that part while looking at the food.

I'd searched for hibachi catering in New York because I wanted the family at the house. Having a private hibachi chef cook for us sounded more appealing than getting everyone to a restaurant. I could picture myself sitting down with the others instead of going back to the kitchen. That was what interested me. I just hadn't pictured much of what happened before we sat down.

What I Hadn't Asked About Hibachi Catering in New York

My first thought was to give the nearest familiar city when asking about Saturday. It's how I usually explain where the house is. But the house isn't in the main city area, and a general location seemed likely to leave us with another round of questions.

I put in the full address. I also mentioned the side entrance, the covered patio, and that we hoped to eat outdoors.

The Hibachi X service areas were a starting point. I still needed someone to check our address and the date. I hadn't booked anything simply by finding New York on the website.

I wanted a price for our group, too. Adults, children, and one vegetarian guest were coming. I gave the closest count I had rather than making it smaller to see a nicer estimate.

Per-person pricing is easy to talk about with family. The minimum order was harder to explain before I knew what applied. Then there were possible travel charges, tax, gratuity, and whatever we chose to add to the meal. I wanted those sorted out before passing a number around.

Once everyone hears a price, that tends to become the price. Trying to explain later that it was only part of the bill sounded like a conversation I could avoid having.

Having dinner cooked at the house was something I could see myself paying for. I just needed to know what I would be agreeing to.

Then I Went Back to the Meal Choices

Steak and shrimp for one person. Chicken for another. A question about tofu. I wrote the choices down because the discussion had gone on longer than I'd expected, and I was starting to mix up who wanted what.

On the menu, the meal was described around two protein choices, fried rice, vegetables, and a side salad. That seemed manageable. I needed to find out how our requests fit into the order, especially the vegetarian meal.

Tofu being an option didn't answer everything that guest might need to know about preparation. I would rather ask directly than tell them it was all arranged because I'd spotted a suitable word on the menu.

The upgrades could wait. Filet mignon, lobster, extra protein, and noodles might be available, but I was still collecting the basic preferences. I wanted the basic meal settled before having an opinion about lobster.

By then, the table had become part of my food planning. That surprised me a little. People needed seats with a view of the cooking, but chairs couldn't fill the way into the yard. The table's old position near the kitchen door was convenient for bringing plates out. It was less convenient for almost everything else I now had in mind.

I moved it farther away and put drinks on a small side table. That gave me a clearer route from the entrance. I still couldn't judge how much working room the chef would need, so I described the space rather than claiming it was suitable.

Older relatives would need comfortable seats. Other guests might want to stand and watch. I didn't want someone getting up for a drink to have to squeeze through the cooking area.

I also had to stop using “catering” as shorthand for having nothing left to do. The chef, portable grill, food, and entertainment were the service I was considering. Tables, chairs, utensils, drinks, and arranging the space were still my jobs. Quite a few of my jobs, actually.

I Was Still Calling the Dining Room a Backup

The patio had a roof. In my head, that had settled more of the weather question than it really should have.

Wind could still make dinner unpleasant. Rain could affect the way in. The temperature and ground conditions might matter, too. A covered place to sit wasn't enough for me to decide whether the whole setup would work.

Then there was the dining room. I kept thinking we could move inside, although nobody had confirmed indoor cooking there.

Smoke detectors, sprinklers, ventilation, working space, and property rules all needed attention. I needed the provider's answer about the room, not my own guess based on how many chairs it held.

I stopped describing it to guests as our backup. Outdoors was what we wanted. Indoors was something I had yet to ask about properly.

This was the least satisfying part of planning, because I couldn't tidy it up myself. Moving a table gave me something to do. Waiting to find out what would happen in unsuitable weather didn't.

I still liked the dinner idea. Watching the cooking would give people something to gather around, and staying at the house suited this group. If the space or timing didn't work, though, I could choose a different meal. We hadn't committed the whole gathering to it.

A dinner time would have to go in the invitation, too. Leaving the arrival time loose might suit a normal family gathering. Here, I'd be paying for cooking that people were meant to watch. I couldn't expect someone coming late to have the same evening as everyone who was already seated. That didn't put me off, but it made me reconsider how casually I could arrange the rest of the day.

For the booking inquiry, I had the date, exact address, meal count, food questions, and a description of the entrance ready.

Before sending it, I went back and added the weather question. That was the answer I was most tempted to assume.