Feeding the love

I used Gran's china, the red and white toile.  I carefully selected the ecru lace placemats and the sterling.  Each time my parents visit, I feel compelled to make one special meal.  Spinach, avocado and pomegranate salad with dijon dressing.  Cold zucchini soup with pan seared scallops and fresh thyme.  Wild blueberry tarte.

Maybe it is because of the thousands of home cooked meals I received growing up.  Or the birthday cakes made from scratch.  The turkeys and dressings.  The blueberry pancakes and Lost Bread.  The red beans and rice, the cheese grits, sausage spaghetti.  How best to repay the generosity of food but with food?

Of course, it is more than food.  Each meal is a valentine, an expression that you care.

So I plan my menus in advance of their visits.  I scour Whole Foods and review cookbooks and Epicurious. This time I tried to emulate a dish from one of my favorite restaurants.

I know my strengths, entrees, and my weaknesses, desserts, and work accordingly to make the best meal possible.  I focused on the entree and salad and picked up the tarte at Trader Joe's (fantastic by the way).

A carefully selected wine, my good crystal, sometimes a floral arrangement... it takes so little to make an impression, to convey that I appreciate them.

Downstairs in the guest bedroom, I arranged the sunflowers in an old blue and white pitcher.  I put out a tray, stocked with waters and trail mix,  on the blanket chest.  I culled my newest magazines and put them bedside.

The funny thing is, as demonstrative and affectionate as I was with Gran, I am not with my mother.  I do not hold her hand or walk arm and arm with her.  Do not ask me why; I cannot fathom as I love her completely.

So I saute and sear, broil and finesse... I pour a lovely white burgundy and cut fresh flowers.

And with each bite, sip, I am sure she knows that I love her.