Last night, my parents’ best friends, the Robinsons, had my folks and me over for dinner. But this was no ordinary dinner. Dad and Rob Robinson have taken cooking classes with a chef named Stephen Hunter (who also runs a little inn in Victoria, Prince Edward Island), and this meal was made for us by him in the Robinsons’ home.
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I like the Robinsons a lot, and see why they mean so much to my parents as friends. Their children have also grown up to be good and talented people in their own rights. So the conversation flowed as rich as the verdicchio and the shiraz cabernet sauvingon we drank.
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My convictions require me to be a vegetarian whenever possible, but sometimes situations (and others’ generosity) compel me to be flexible and open to other experiences. I can live with myself as long as I honour where my meal came from, which, by the time it arrives on the table, seems more respectful than wasting it.
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So here’s what we had, served by the chef himself:
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Hand-made ravioli, stuffed with a creamy artichoke filling, served with seared scallops and broiled tomato, with chives crossed overtop.
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Stuffed Morello mushrooms. Stephen’s brother sent these to him from the Yukon, where they only grow after a fire. Wow, what a rare and unique gift! We had these with some broccoli and creamy risotto, and the main attraction, a velvety soft, rare beef butt filet.
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For dessert, we had pears in simple syrup that had been poached in Galliano, Goldschlager, served with coffee ice cream drizzled with maple cappucino sauce in an almond-crunch cookie shell.
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I must admit I was still a bit loopy when we got home, and had another night of being awake until some crazy time. But I’m getting lots of ‘sitting around doing nothing’ time. I ate through two books in the past two days, and today I bought some more — more research, and even a novel. I want to read a good, juicy novel.
