The potluck in Rhode Island almost didn’t happen.
We had a venue set up weeks in advance, a farm whose work we admire, connected through a friend of ours who seems to know everything about food and drink in Rhode Island. We couldn’t wait.
But the day before the potluck, as we were traveling down the road in our blue minivan, I received an email from David. The owner of the farm had a terrible family emergency on her hands and she wouldn’t be able to host us the next day. What should we do?
Danny and I thought and thought. We could have easily just canceled it. After all, we had been on an incredible journey —— New York City, Pennsylvania, Hudson Valley, Vermont, and Maine, plus a day in Cape Cod with good friends —— and we were feeling mighty tired. Maybe, given the circumstances, we should just cancel.
However, in February of this year, we flew to Providence for the wedding of a very dear friend. We flew in a few days early to experience the place, which, in most cases in our lives, means eating. Oh, the eating! Providence has some of the best, most genuine restaurants I have ever dined in. We didn’t want to miss this place.
So I threw up a question on Twitter and Facebook, the constant companions to the three of us on the road: Anyone know a place in Providence where we could have a potluck?
Within a few moments, someone wrote to say: Sure! Come to my home.
I’m telling you, people. There’s such goodness in the world. We drove toward Rhode Island, toward a party that night.