There was no dinner at the country house. It was a rehearsal night for me, and the group I was working with threw themselves a little first-night-of-the-season party. I ate a couple bites of cheese and crackers. She met a friend to chat after work and grabbed a bagel for the train ride home. But that was her lunch, apparently, as her all-day meeting had not taken a break long enough for her to fetch the lunch that was in the office fridge. When I found her–having walked home from the train since I was late with the rehearsal stragglers–she was unhappily poring over her laptop, processing the all-day meeting notes into her tasks for the next several weeks.
I left her working and returned from the kitchen with two little ramekins, each containing a scoop of vanilla ice cream, a smear of peanut butter, a drizzle of chocolate syrup, a dab of whipped cream, and a sprinkle of granola: a little salty, a little bittersweet, a little creamy, a little crunchy, cold on the tongue on a warm summer night. And, of course, some carbs and protein.
I won’t pretend this was a balanced meal. (What was I going to do, top the sundaes with strips of grilled chicken, carrot, and green pepper?) But it was comforting, and not too indulgent. And nobody was cranky afterward.
Dinner at the Country House 