Over tea and cookies, Ivy asked Diya about a harvest feast menu.
The chef whipped out a small spiral notepad and pen. “I have some fabulous ideas for you. That is, if that handsome husband of Shelly’s is cooking.”
“We couldn’t do it without him,” Ivy said.
Diya nodded her approval. “He’s talented and understands food, so this menu should be easy enough for him to create. With helpers, of course. He’ll need a sous chef.”
“He’ll have plenty. Bennett usually handles the grill with him.”
“Oh yes, I remember your dear mayor.” Diya sipped her tea, the steam curling around her animated face. “Now, about this harvest feast of yours. I have some ideas to make your guests forget every boring turkey dinner they’ve ever suffered through.”
Ivy wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “I’m intrigued. But we do have some traditionalists on the guest list.”
“Trust me.” Diya leaned forward, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “We’ll anchor the dinner with turkey transformed. Imagine the meat marinated in yogurt with garam masala, slow-roasted and glazed with pomegranate molasses.”
Poppy’s eyebrows lifted. “That sounds delicious.”
“It’s just the beginning.” Diya tapped her fingers on the countertop. “Instead of the usual mashed potatoes, you can have a roasted butternut squash puree with brown butter and sage, topped with crispy fried curry leaves.”
That sounded fabulous to Ivy, but she knew some would miss the mashed potatoes. Maybe they could prepare both.
“Now for other side dishes,” Diya said, making notes. “Irecommend charred brussels sprouts with mustard seeds and coconut, sweet potato chaat with tamarind chutney, and a wild rice pilaf with dried fruits and pistachios.”
Ivy glanced at Poppy, a silent message passing between them. The menu sounded exquisite but far beyond what they’d planned.
Diya paused, noting their expressions. “Too much?”
“It sounds amazing,” Ivy said. “I’d love to make those recipes sometime. But for the big feast, I’m thinking of one of my brothers who considers ketchup the perfect condiment.”
Diya made a face but added, “Classic dishes with subtle twists work well for the less adventurous. How about an herb-roasted turkey with a twist of star anise in the gravy? Garlic mashed potatoes with brown butter, and carrots glazed with local honey and a touch of cardamom.” She crossed off some items and added others.
Poppy nodded. “That might work better.”
“And for the pescatarians, you can add a seafood option,” Diya said. “Sea bass or tilapia in a coconut milk sauce with saffron. Or make an Italian cioppino with a touch of ginger and coriander.”
“Fancy,” Poppy said. “I love those dishes.”
Ivy was suddenly hungry, but she thought of her brother. “Maybe something less fancy?”
Diya handed Ivy the menu ideas. “Since we’re in California, grilled fish tacos are an acceptable seafood alternative—just don’t let anyone put ketchup on them. That would be a crime against all that I stand for.”
“Fortunately, my brother speaks fluent salsa.” As Ivy thanked her, the kitchen door swung open, and the student guests began to arrive.
Caleb was among the group. Ivy introduced him. “Dr. Montana is one of our guests who signed up for your class this week.”
Diya’s attention shifted. “Excellent. Both medicine and cooking require precision.”
“Veterinarian, actually. I hope my attention to detail carries into your domain. And call me Caleb.”
Diya smiled at him. “Anyone who cares for animals has my admiration.”
Others joined them, including a retired couple from Seattle, a young woman with a food blog, and a middle-aged man who confessed that he was a widower learning to cook for himself.
Diya clapped her hands for attention. “It’s time for everyone to select a station so we can begin. You’ll find an apron that is yours to keep, along with ingredients and instruction for the dish you’ll make for our dinner. Let’s begin, shall we?”
Ivy caught Caleb’s eye as he frowned at the recipe instructions at his station. He threw up his hands, looking a little amused and embarrassed. “I’m clearly diving into the deep end.”
Ivy chuckled, but it was time to leave them all to it. She touched Poppy’s arm, and they slipped through the kitchen door, closing it against the rising chatter behind them.
