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GREENSBORO -- It started as a simple concept: a monthly dinner with friends.

But in this case, dinner with friends consists of nearly 60 guests, 118 shrimp toast rounds, a 25-pound roast beef, a 22-pound country ham, 16 pounds of collard greens, six gallons of red beans and nine pounds of kielbasa sausage. And that's not even the entire menu.

None of it is catered, either. It's all home-cooked, and it takes three days to prepare and at least one day to clean up afterward.

The hosts are Charlie and Ruth Jones, and they aren't crazy. This is how they connect with friends, and make new ones.

The recipe

Charlie and Ruth Jones, 55 and 53, respectively, travel a lot with their touring theater company, Peculiar People. Their work takes them to schools and churches across the country and around the world -- they've traveled an estimated 1.2 million road miles since they started their company 21 years ago. It's a lifestyle that doesn't allow much time for friends. They felt as if they were missing chances to develop deeper relationships.

So, they started hosting monthly dinners at their home in Franklin, Tenn. They called it Supper Club and invited mostly friends from church. And because the Joneses long for the days when people used to sit around the fire and read together, they included after-dinner readings.

When they moved to Greensboro last year, they reinstated the monthly dinners. Except here, it's called Greensboro Grub. And in addition to their church friends, they invite local artists, writers, musicians and actors. It's a way to meet other artists.

After dinner, guests share their talents. The Joneses usually perform a skit. Some people play musical instruments or sing. Others may recite a poem or passage from a book they're reading.

"It's just been glorious." Charlie Jones says.

Grubs are usually booked within 12 hours, once Charlie Jones posts the notice on his Web site.

He thinks of these gatherings as a mission -- a way of reaching out to others -- to spread goodwill and love. And to gather people from all walks of life and introduce them to each other.

They are Christians and non-Christians. Old and young. Black, white and Asian. Gay and straight.

At Greensboro Grub, it doesn't matter who you are. All are welcome.

Prep work

In less than two hours, the Joneses expect nearly 60 people for dinner.

If they're at all stressed about this, it doesn't show. Charlie Jones, wearing a blue apron and a smile, sips a Yuengling and pours creamy cornbread batter into a baking pan.

There's a theme each month. Charlie Jones' Grub night menus so far have included Italian, German, Asian and Indian foods. One night, guests sampled four different kinds of soup.

Tonight's theme, "A Southern New Year," honors their neighbor and landlord, Hubert Nall. Charlie Jones dubbed Nall their "recovering redneck" after learning he wasn't too fond of the Indian fare at November's Grub. Nall told Jones he just likes "down-home, simple food."

This evening's meal will require every bowl and serving platter Ruth Jones owns. They are stacked on the kitchen chairs. A slip of paper on the top of each stack indicates what's to be served in them. Ham. Potato salad. Roast.

Collard greens simmer in a four-gallon stock pot on the stove. A thin stream of juice from something -- pot roast or red beans, perhaps -- stains the oven door.

Their friend Linda Allgood arrived hours early to help with the preparations. She spreads cream cheese and shrimp dip onto round, Oreo-sized slices of toast.

Charlie Jones fills the rice cooker.

This is a three-day affair. Grubs are on Fridays. Charlie Jones started cooking for the this one on Wednesday. He cooked through lunch and dinner Thursday. It was 2 a.m. Friday when he finally left the kitchen. He was back four hours later.

Sure, it's a lot of work. And it can be exhausting.

"But I love it," Charlie Jones says with a smile.

The appetizer

118 grit toast rounds, topped with a cream cheese and shrimp dip.

15 bottles of wine

Guests begin arriving at 6:30 p.m. They sip wine or beer and nibble shrimp and toast appetizers.

Some of them know each other from church or past Grubs. And some of them know only the friend who invited them. Until dinner, guests meander through the rooms, checking out the Joneses' 4,000-square-foot South Elm Street apartment.

They greet Charlie Jones, still in the kitchen carrying out last-minute preparations. Except for a clean apron emblazoned with coffee cups, he's dressed like a waiter: black slacks and a white button-down shirt. Ruth Jones honors the evening's theme with denim overalls. Her straight blond hair, pulled into pigtails, frames her face like bookends. Their dogs -- Starbuck, Cappuccino and Bear -- don't stray far from the kitchen.

Guests marvel at the table -- actually, it's four 10-foot tables, and one six-foot table, connected like rail cars down the long, long hallway of the Joneses' apartment. Tonight, the table is set with disposable plates and Mason jars.

Shortly before dinner, Charlie Jones walks through the crowd, showcasing the 22-pound country ham like a bronzed trophy. The ham is sliced in a criss-cross pattern with a clove piercing the center of each diamond. They look like tiny black pearls.

The crowd "oohs" and "aahs" appreciatively.

A team of friends in the kitchen fills bowls with potato and corn salads, collard greens, beans, rice, roast beef and vegetables. They help slice and plate meat and fill beverage glasses.

There's so much food, it's hard to find room for it all on the table.

At 7:20 p.m., Charlie Jones announces the start of dinner. It takes him a few seconds to get everyone's attention.

"OK, silence, you bunch of animals," he shouts, smiling. "First of all, I want to thank you all for coming. This is in honor of our recovering redneck, Hubert Nall. When we had Indian food in November, he was a little green around the gills."

There are scattered chuckles and glances at Nall, who is grinning.

Then Charlie Jones says a short prayer, thanking God for the food and for bringing everyone together.

"Come and be with us. In your name we pray, amen."

The aromas from the evening's meal have teased them long enough. It's time to start passing the food.

The main course

24 pounds of roast beef, served with a 6-gallon pot of vegetables including 15 pounds of potatoes, 5 pounds of carrots, 2 pounds of celery and 10 large onions.

22 pounds of country ham

16 pounds of collard greens

3 gallons of potato salad

3 gallons of corn salad

3 restaurant-sized pans of corn bread

16 cups of rice

6 gallons of red beans, with 9 pounds of kielbasa

Charlie Jones' moments at the table are brief, but when he does sit, his dog Starbuck soon follows.

The King Charles Spaniel presses against his owner's leg and rests his head on his lap. Jones ignores Starbuck's paw pats and pleading gaze and continues to chat with guests.

In the kitchen, Casie Lucks serves herself dinner from various pots and pans scattered throughout the kitchen. Her friends Myanna Lansing and Lindsey Gavronski are visiting from Wisconsin. They're helping the Joneses this evening. They replenish bowls and platters, fill wine and water glasses and put away food.

Lucks, a 23-year-old UNCG graduate student, attends City Church with the Joneses. Though she and her friends are among the youngest guests there, they don't feel out of place.

"It's such a unique and incredible experience," Lucks says. "There's always so many people, and everyone is so kind. And the food is amazing."

Lansing and Gavronski nod their heads in agreement, adding that although they don't even know the Joneses, they feel comfortable in their home.

Once people have filled their plates at least once, Charlie Jones requests their attention for a Grub ritual: the guest interviews. Because the group is so large and many people don't know each other, the goal is for everyone to hear from someone they might not have had a chance to meet otherwise.

Jones orchestrates the interviews with the enthusiasm and charm of a game-show host.

Where were you born? What brought you to Greensboro? What is your profession? How did you meet your lovely wife? Was it really love at first sight?

In the meantime, dinner dishes and empty glasses are cleared. Dessert is on its way.

Dessert

3 large pans of apple crisp

2 gallons of vanilla ice cream

Four 12-cup pots of coffee

Some Grub guests aren't satisfied with just enjoying the meal.

They insist on helping out, spontaneously pitching in throughout dinner. No one asks what should be done or if their help is even needed. They just do it.

Grub regular Terry Ball helps clear the table and serves dessert. She remains in the kitchen even after all of the dessert is served. Ball says she actually likes to wash dishes. The bulk of the cleanup will be done the next day. A friend drives from Salisbury to sample leftovers and to tackle the pots and pans Ruth Jones hates to scrub. For now, the food must be put away and the dishwasher loaded.

Back in the dining room, people are lapping up their last spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream. It's show time.

With everyone helping, transferring the chairs into the entertainment room takes just a few minutes.

The evening's final course has little to do with food. But for those who appreciate creativity, it feeds the soul.

After-dinner entertainment

One audience participation exercise

Four musical interludes

Two poetry readings

One spoken-word performance

Three skits

Hollis Gabriel anticipated this moment from the first time she heard about Greensboro Grub.

Her performance.

Gabriel, who is new to Greensboro, was a teacher in New Orleans. She admits she doesn't sing or dance well. Instead, she leads the audience in an interactive dramatic exercise, starting with this command: "Without using words, how did you feel about dinner?"

There are wide grins, belly rubs and thumbs-up signs around the room.

Gabriel enthusiastically calls out an emotion or action, and her audience responds either verbally or nonverbally.

There aren't any guidelines for Grub performances. The Joneses are fans of G.K. Chesterton, an English philosopher and writer. One of their favorite Chesterton quotes is this: "If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly."

Take dancing, singing or acting. Kids do these things, without fear of making fools of themselves, Charlie Jones says. We eventually stop doing these things because of what others might think of us. But consider how much fun it is to sing or dance.

Some guests read poems or excerpts from books. Once, Nall's wife, Juanita, read from family letters. Greensboro poet Josephus Thompson III often recites his work. He does so again on this evening.

Bob Pleasants drew inspiration from a dream. With help from the Joneses and a few audience members, he re-enacted it.

Brad Pitt, played by Charlie Jones, and Angelina Jolie, played by Ruth Jones, are imprisoned. Angelina misses Brad and their children. Brad fantasizes about ex-wife Jennifer Aniston. The couple tries to escape.

When the quirky performance finally ends, Charlie Jones wonders if they should ban improv(isation): "I never thought I'd say we need to have standards to the Grub."

His skit with Ruth Jones is the last of the evening. Their performance about a grief-stricken woman at a hospital who finds hope where she least expects it -- a mentally challenged orderly -- draws a few tears.

Closing

Charlie Jones may be an actor, but the emotion that comes at the end of each Grub is genuine. His blue eyes fill with tears that he manages to retain. He ends each Grub by thanking them for coming.

And then comes the moment they all wait for. It's a phrase that has become his trademark, and it signals the end of the evening.

"Now, get the hell out of my house," he says.

Everyone laughs. It's time to go.

Contact Tina Firesheets at 373-3498 or tina.firesheets@news-record.com