Menu for Hope

only one day left…

the chef in his new apron

Today is the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year. Somehow, this day feels more potent to me than Christmas or New Year’s. I like the quietness of it, the fact that it is not tainted by hordes of shoppers so desperate for that one last present that they are running each other down in the parking lots at malls. Instead, this is the earth, slowly tilting on its axis, inexorably moving toward summer, and more light.

Some of you might have thought, “Oh god, the shortest day of the year. It’s so dark.” I just think of the Beatles line, “It’s getting better all the time (couldn’t get much worse).”

Besides, there are so many gleams of light against the dark night sky.

My eyes can hardly believe it. Every time I check back with the donations page for Menu for Hope III, I do a doubletake. Last year, everyone involved felt thrilled to have raised $17,000. As of this post, the total is nearly $45,000. If anyone needs a little glimmer of light in the darkness, there it is.

You still have tonight, though. As we sit in the darkness together, how about reaching out one more time for Hope? As those of you who are regular readers know, the offering from this website is a full dinner at Impromptu Bistro, with me, wine included, all lovingly made by the Chef. And of course, everything can be gluten-free.

Many of you have already bid on this one. I can’t wait to meet the winner and share an evening with you, candles flickering on the table, illuminating our food. But there is still time to bid. And there are so many other prizes! Why not reach out, one more time, tonight?

The photograph above is of the Chef, with his new apron. We ordered them for him the other day, black with crisp white pinstripes. He couldn’t decide — should he wear it around his waist or around the neck? He tried it both ways, so many times, that I didn’t know who was the girl in the room. Watching his happy pride, the way he brushed the apron straight to his knees, and seeing the way he felt uplifted by this small addition to his uniform — well, I just had to take his photograph.

This is one of the reasons I love him so. He takes such enormous delight in tiny details.

Wouldn’t you want a meal made by someone who lives like that?