Granted, I am selfishly salivating at the idea. After all, she’s Martha Steward x 100.
The four of us walk into her warm, cozy kitchen from the cold October chill. Something aromatically autumnal is steaming from a saucepan. Mugs filled with warm cider, a cinnamon stick in each, wait on the counter. A large vase of dried lavender and rose hydrangea flowers pose next to five soup bowls.
I spy a pile of colorful green, orange and yellow gourds sitting happily in a bowl in the center of the dining room table, and as the four of us guests stare, she suggests softly. “Sit, sit! We need to eat first – sustain ourselves.”
With cut up apples, walnuts, and grapes, she serves a Waldorf salad on baby lettuce (from her garden), and then pours a savory warm dressing on top.
I almost swoon when homemade pumpkin soup is ladled into the bowls and warm succulent Focaccia bread is passed around the table.
Another fragrance wafts from the oven. “What’s that?” I moan, almost overwhelmed by the mingling of savory smells wrapping themselves around the five of us like a soft cashmere shawl.
“Oh, that’s my chocolate mousse cake. It’s almost done,” she answers.
I raise my hand. “First order of business,” I mumble, Focaccia still stuffed in my mouth. “The meeting next month – same place, same time.”
Three other hands shoot up in agreement.