Cooking club. Let me tell you: I'm a fan.
A night to try something new, to put on "real" clothes, to leave bedtime to the dads.
Mistakes, miscalculations, mishaps. Forgotten shallots (what is a shallot, by the way?!). Way too many peppercorns in the pan.
Minor victories. Great successes. Risatta, the food of heaven. Wait, or is it risotto?
A salad much too fancy for everyday life, we decided, but oh so delicious. What would life look like if we treated ourselves to food like this everyday, even on ordinary days?
Teamwork. A group effort. Reading directions. Ignoring suggestions. Community.
These girls. Gifts given and received recently, in my thirties. My council. My people.
Pretty sparkly glasses. Filled and refilled. Misplaced. Discovered again.
The details. A setting begging for a late night dinner party for five.
Finally. We sit, we exhale. We work out the problems of the week. We leave some for next time.
Food for the body. Food for the soul.
A beautiful, messy life, best lived around the table, glasses raised, forks in hand. For a few hours, the world seems to stand still.
"That's what this is about. This isn't about recipes. This is about a family, a tribe, a little band of people who walk through it all together, up close and in the mess, real time and unvarnished."