The weekend before last, a group of us from work had to travel north for the afternoon and evening. We decided to spend the dinner hour making dinner ourselves, rather than dining in one of the meager choices of restaurants in the area. There were six of us and we each brought something. My contribution was to be the sauce for pasta.
At first I thought I would do one of my favourites: beets, pecans, chicken stock garnished with goat cheese. But then I remembered that one person was allergic to nuts. So I manipulated T into making romano bean, sausage and tomato sauce with blackened chillies.
So at dinnertime, we all bundled ourselves into two cars and headed towards the host’s place. It turned out to be a cottage. With access of a steepish road covered in snow. We parked the car by the main road and in the dusk, tromped the shortish distance – down then up – to the cottage. (Who me? Winter boots?! In December? Whatever for? *cough*)
And we entered a lovely but barely finished cottage with electricity, fully equipped stove, running water, large kitchen table, just enough chairs, just enough plates, cups and cutlery. A kettle. And two pots. One large. One small.
“Oh… don’t use the kitchen sink yet. It’s not hooked up. Get water from the bathroom sink.”
Talk about roughing it! (Okay, so I lied. It wasn’t roughing it at all. At least the place was fully insulated and heated.)
The second car arrived and in tromped the others, one triumphantly bearing a large bag and saying happily, “I brought wings! Can we fire up the barbecue?” Bag examined…
Host: “Dude, these are frozen. They’ll take ages to cook”
Fellow: “Really?? I was really looking forward to wings.”
Everyone: “Take them outside so they’ll stay frozen and you can have them tomorrow.”
Fellow: “Really? …okay”
And then we examined the contents of the other bags: a loaf of crusty(ish) bread, crackers, cheddar cheese, brie, tabouli salad (delicious), broccoli, penne, T’s pasta sauce (stellar), a bottle of red wine, mint leaves for mint tea, tin of homemade cookies (spectacular), storebought apple pie (very good).
The big pot was soon bubbling merrily and the pasta was cooked. I threw the broccoli in for the last few minutes. The sauce was quickly reheated in the small pot. And in no time at all, we were dishing everything out and happily stuffing our faces. I must say it was a fantastic dinner!
And so with reluctance, we cleaned up, turned off the lights and headed outside in the by then pitch black night back up the snowy road lit only by the moonlight reflecting on the snow. That’s the life!
Yes, indeed, I liked it.