Living in the semi-sticks, next door neighbors can be a half mile away. In the ‘hood as I affectionately call it, a circle of friends has formed, we are all creatives, scientists, artists, writers. The friendships have been years in the making, these people near to me are also dear to me. Lewis is my very next door neighbor. I can see his house from mine, but it’s mostly obscured by junipers. He like me is a single guy. Unlike me he is a sculptor and a great cook. We have supper pretty much every Monday, alternating between his place and mine. The trade never seems quite equitable but I’m not going to complain.
Last week we had dinner at Lewis’. His significant other, Eileen is visiting from Toronto, and it’s an added pleasure to see her. She is another great cook. Since Eileen’s appearance in his life, Lewis has been developing his dessert repertoire. Clearly they are in love and dessert has become an event in and of itself. But let me not forget dinner. Of Eileen’s creation we had chicken roasted with slices of orange and a blend of aromatic spices, pan roasted potatoes and steamed broccoli. The dessert, yes, for the dessert Lewis made a dark chocolate pecan tart. I brought over some vanilla ice cream as an accompaniment. The tart was rich, not too sweet and me thinks there was a dash of rum in there. His preparation is very methodical and he knows the value of quality ingredients. It was heavenly.
There’s a lot more to our gatherings than the food. Lewis is originally from North Carolina, his manner genteel. Over the two plus years we’ve been having supper, both the breadth and depth of our friendship has grown. We share the trials and triumphs, and our interests in the world. And there is the continuity of it. This is a chance to check in every week on the progress of things. It is also an evening where one of us is cooking for or being cooked for, two of life’s great pleasures.
We’ve had a few arguments, but frankly I can’t remember what they were about. Probably politics or some other foolishness. One Monday night I brazenly made a fifty dollar bet with Lewis, again over foolishness, and promptly lost it. He was kind enough to pass on collecting. There have been many laughs. Here it’s important to note one of Lewis’ signature dishes: The Pomteeny. This is a concoction of pomegranate and lemon juices and vodka, gently shaken with ice. Served in a martini glass they’re pink delicacy belies their potency. Consumption has something to do with the laughs, and the arguments. But what the heck, we seem to enjoy them every week no matter what the outcome.
One hot summer Monday it was my turn to cook, Eileen was visiting and would be coming over too. It was her first such supper with the club. Lewis poured the Poms for he and me. Eileen doesn’t drink alcohol. Taking my first sip from the shallow glass I got a bit of it down the wrong pipe and convulsively snorted, splashing about two thirds of the contents all over the place. What a horrible waste! This was followed by great hilarity and pandemonium, Eileen taking it all in. Clearly she was wondering about what she was getting herself into. If I look close enough I could probably find a few remaining splatters here and there.
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