From Faith — The car careened past a forest of trees, down a steep gravel road, and I caught my breath; I caught my breath because I was the one driving, taking directions from the back seat. In the back seat was one of my friends, Frederica (Freddie) Gamble, who had bid on a dinner at a fundraising auction for the Pomperaug River Watershed Coalition.
I chaired that event in support of the organization’s highly respected work to preserve and protect the health of the region’s watershed, and Freddie was nice enough to include me in her “rat pack” of seven pals invited to attend the dinner on her dime. You have to understand that the piece of paper she generously bid for said simply that the dinner would be “cooked by some of the watershed’s volunteers;” that economy of language seems hilarious to me now, especially in light of what happened…
We arrived in the late afternoon, as instructed, on November 1, at a home perched up high overlooking the Pomperaug River in Woodbury, Ct. Once inside, our coats were taken, and we were introduced to the “chefs,” a group of professional women, all Food Schmooze listeners, and dressed alike in snappy aprons they had commissioned just for our event. The host was Dr. Mariannne Bette, and her crew of co-conspirators, all home cooks, included Gail McTaggart, Kathleen Lord, and Lisa Golymbieski. They handed us beautifully printed menus describing each course they had made, cocktails and wine. We stared in disbelief.
Their comforting Fall Harvest cocktail consisted of Champagne, St. Germaine liquer, fresh lemon juice, local cider and honey crisp apple slices. As we sipped those, the women passed around their appetizer selection, including wild mushroom crostini with shallots and cream; endive tapas with blue cheese and pine nuts; and smoked salmon crisps with sour cream and chives.
“You made all these?” I said. They were really good.
“Sure,” they said.
As they escorted us to a table they had decorated beautifully, they took up their positions like a well-honed catering crew. The pans on the stove sizzled and in minutes we stared down at plates of homemade butternut squash ravioli in a sauce of local maple syrup, cayenne, and brown butter flecked with crispy sage leaves. Delicious!
“Seriously,” I said. “Who made this?”
“We did,” one of the crew said, “and we did testing.”
We were staggered to learn that these busy professional women had met countless times to debate the menu, often selecting items they had heard us talk about on the show. When they agreed they had the menu selected, they made a detailed game plan for shopping, cooking and decorating, then they made the entire meal as a test run, to be sure it met their standards.
That’s when the roasted Cornish game hens appeared with an herbed bread stuffing of sausage, pine nuts, Mission figs soaked in Calvados brandy, cranberries and apricots. The hens were accompanied by a bundle, green beans wrapped in bacon that had been fried to a heavenly crisp in soy sauce, brown sugar and butter.
“You did not make this…” I said to the doctor, suspicious. “We did,” she chirped. “We just hoped all of you would like it.”
For a minute we were too flabbergasted to speak; we sat chewing, and staring at each other, dumbfounded. I think it was at this point that they started pouring one of my favorite wines on earth, from California’s Runquist vineyard. “Not possible!” I said.
All I can say is that my friends and I spent the entire dessert course, consisting of a devastatingly good harvest apple tart with homemade guava ice cream and drunken cranberries, trying to convey how grateful we were.
We toured the house, stood by a roaring fire, and toasted our generous host team. Ladies, you have made home cooks proud. You could have second careers as caterers. You deserve Olympic medals for your astounding care and generosity. Three cheers for husband Lee McTaggart who volunteered to come in while we lingered and quietly did all the dishes.
