This is my third entry in Project Food Blog. Thanks to everyone for their encouragement and support! Please enjoy the story, the photographs, and a few words on hosting a simple yet elegant Fall feast. Thank you for your vote!
Rebecca has been waiting for hours.
Adam knocks on the door with timid reserve. Amanda holds the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Her dress clings to her thighs almost as tightly as their daughter clung to her arm just fifteen minutes before.
Adam turns to kiss her, but then the door opens, and Rebecca and Terrance greet them with hearty Hellos.
Come on in, Rebecca beckons, her hair hanging in a single braid along her lengthy spine. How lovely, they coo as she brings them to her table with its centerpiece of miniature pumpkins and sprayed pinecones.
The talk turns to business once the soup course is finished. Rebecca and Amanda stare at each other as their husbands talk about the sales. Rebecca takes a swig of her wine because now she’s getting uncomfortable. I don’t even know what to say to this woman, she thinks and bites daintily into her steak.
Rebecca folds and unfolds her napkin, wondering if the steaks are too rare, if Amanda likes vinaigrette more than the buttermilk dressing that sits untouched. You’re here to impress them, her husband told her. They’ve got connections, he added just before they stood in solidarity to open the door.
But Rebecca still doesn’t fit here, knows a different way of impressing people—long afternoons sipping tea, no fancy parties that don’t start till eight. The pressure to make an impression is heavy; being here for only 6 months, Terrance has work to do if he wants to make it past the budget cuts.
But dinner has taken a turn. Now both women are fidgeting. Neither skilled at conversation. They both reach out to grab the last slice of bread, and then flush before returning their hands to their laps. I’ll get some more in the kitchen, Rebecca says but as she stands up her wine spills in Amanda’s lap.
Damn it, she cries, and now all eyes are fixed. The two women in pressed dresses try to ward off a stain with a napkin soaked in water. The men clear their throats while the women continue to dab. Exasperated, Rebecca pulls Amanda into the laundry room, the one place she didn’t expect to show guests.
I’m sorry, she repeats as she opens cabinets to find stain remover. Amanda looks down and wonders how much her dry cleaner will charge. Rebecca’s hands are fluttering now; she’s made a fool of them, she thinks, and wants Amanda, and the rice pilaf and her husband to poof—disappear. Don’t worry, Amanda says softly and places her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. It’s only one touch but it stills Rebecca, allows her to take a deep breath.
They leave for the kitchen, and then Amanda sees it, perched perfectly on a white pedestal.
Is that a carrot cake? She asks and Rebecca turns to it, the walnuts toasted, the cream cheese frosting perfectly spread. It is, she answers, and Amanda smile. How could you have known? She says, grasping Rebecca’s hand, there’s nothing better than a slice of carrot cake with friends.
Adam knocks on the door with timid reserve. Amanda holds the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Her dress clings to her thighs almost as tightly as their daughter clung to her arm just fifteen minutes before.
Adam turns to kiss her, but then the door opens, and Rebecca and Terrance greet them with hearty Hellos.
Come on in, Rebecca beckons, her hair hanging in a single braid along her lengthy spine. How lovely, they coo as she brings them to her table with its centerpiece of miniature pumpkins and sprayed pinecones.
The talk turns to business once the soup course is finished. Rebecca and Amanda stare at each other as their husbands talk about the sales. Rebecca takes a swig of her wine because now she’s getting uncomfortable. I don’t even know what to say to this woman, she thinks and bites daintily into her steak.
Rebecca folds and unfolds her napkin, wondering if the steaks are too rare, if Amanda likes vinaigrette more than the buttermilk dressing that sits untouched. You’re here to impress them, her husband told her. They’ve got connections, he added just before they stood in solidarity to open the door.
But Rebecca still doesn’t fit here, knows a different way of impressing people—long afternoons sipping tea, no fancy parties that don’t start till eight. The pressure to make an impression is heavy; being here for only 6 months, Terrance has work to do if he wants to make it past the budget cuts.
But dinner has taken a turn. Now both women are fidgeting. Neither skilled at conversation. They both reach out to grab the last slice of bread, and then flush before returning their hands to their laps. I’ll get some more in the kitchen, Rebecca says but as she stands up her wine spills in Amanda’s lap.
Damn it, she cries, and now all eyes are fixed. The two women in pressed dresses try to ward off a stain with a napkin soaked in water. The men clear their throats while the women continue to dab. Exasperated, Rebecca pulls Amanda into the laundry room, the one place she didn’t expect to show guests.
I’m sorry, she repeats as she opens cabinets to find stain remover. Amanda looks down and wonders how much her dry cleaner will charge. Rebecca’s hands are fluttering now; she’s made a fool of them, she thinks, and wants Amanda, and the rice pilaf and her husband to poof—disappear. Don’t worry, Amanda says softly and places her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. It’s only one touch but it stills Rebecca, allows her to take a deep breath.
They leave for the kitchen, and then Amanda sees it, perched perfectly on a white pedestal.
Is that a carrot cake? She asks and Rebecca turns to it, the walnuts toasted, the cream cheese frosting perfectly spread. It is, she answers, and Amanda smile. How could you have known? She says, grasping Rebecca’s hand, there’s nothing better than a slice of carrot cake with friends.
Our dinner party was shared with Ryan, my sister, her fiance, and one new friend.
All good dinner parties begin and end with a fresh loaf of bread. Tonight we feasted on a braided loaf of Pumpkin Ginger.
And then a simple Basil Tomato Soup with Parmesan crisps. Zucchini and Ricotta Tartlets adorned each warm bowl.
To fill our stomachs we swirled Spaghetti Squash with Roasted Chickpeas and Red Pepper Sauce.
And then to end our night we did what all good party-throwers and goers must do: We sat around, drank wine and ate cake. A sinfully spicy Pistachio cake with Browned Butter Frosting was enjoyed by all.
Always,
Monet
Anecdotes and Apple Cores
Monet
Anecdotes and Apple Cores
RSS Feed
