Perfect

I travel back to my hometown in Montana about every three months to see her and her family, and to catch up on all the local gossip. Her husband, Stu, is a classically trained chef, and she’s no slouch in the kitchen, either. Neither one of them places a lot of importance on choreography, and cooking with them is always a pleasure. During my stays with them, there have been some nights when Candace does all the cooking, and some nights when Stu does it all. There are evenings I’ve made the meal, and others where we all share the kitchen. Meals are prepared happily and eaten happily.

I’ve been involved in a couple of their dinner parties, as well. As I suspected, there was ballet and choreography; but as much as I looked, I could not find the smoke and mirrors. Their emphasis, instead, was placed on the guests. Who was telling a great story? Who needed an introduction? Who needed a re-fill? Stir the sauce. Sip some wine, and one-and-two and one-and-two. Dinner was served, and everyone sat down at the tables, placed randomly in the yard. Their house at that time was not large enough to hold all their friends and family. They didn’t have the “perfect” house or the “perfect” setting. They worked with what they had, and made it perfect. 

With their guests seated, Candace and Stu took their places among their friends. There was no last minute fussing in the kitchen, leaving the guests anxiously awaiting their hosts. (Something my mom still does.) The hosts sat proudly together, enjoying the company of their friends and family. And I sat admiring their gracious appreciation, and was thankful not to hear, “It’s not as good as it could be.”

My friend, Candace is battling stage four breast cancer. Weekly, sometimes daily, medical appointments have shattered the choreography of her life. She and Stu have learned that we can plan our lives, our dinner parties, and our daily activities to the best of our abilities, but in the end, greater forces can take charge. And the best we can do is surround ourselves with good friends and family. Good food is a bonus. And maybe occasionally a dish is a little too salty, or doesn’t have quite enough paprika, but they are too busy “dancing” to care.

Candace and Stu know this is as good as it gets.

I still occasionally use the careful guidance of my cookbooks, but thanks to Stu and Candace, “It’s not as good as it could be” is a tradition I am happy to discontinue.