Dinner Party a la Sonoma

Last week, my dear old friend Miss Hower--she of the voodoo doll fame--invited us to come to dinner on Sunday night.  Being the dedicated Sonoma Mama that I am, I told her we would love to, but not to be offended if I couldn't eat everything.  Because Miss Hower has been down this road with me more times than she probably cares to remember, she was immediately interested in what I could have, and made a Sonoma feast fit for, well, me on Sunday evening.  We had broiled Arctic Char with a fantastic Napa Herb rub and an avocado/tomato/cilantro topping, steamed peas, couscous, roasted sweet onions and tomatoes, salad, and all the water I could down.  Miss Hower is a fantastic cook, and I loved every last bite.

Now for a bit of the diet and personal care saga history of Miss Hower and Mental P:  We have been at it for a long time.  I won't say how long, but a looooong time.  We started in college.  We would put bandanas on our heads and take jogs together.  When it rained, we would jog in slow motion around our suite to the strains of "Chariots of Fire."  Yup.  That long ago.  Miss Hower also arrived on campus that year with a complete assortment of Erno Laszlo skin care products.  The rest of the girls were so impressed that we had all our newspapers delivered to our door under the name of, you guessed it, Erno Laszlo.  She also had so many cute little sweaters that she had to color coordinate them in her closet.  You do not want to know how many shoes she has right this very moment.

Anyway, fast forward ten years after our Vanderbilt days, and I am visiting Miss Hower in her Florida home for a "spa" weekend.  We planned a whole weekend of exercise, massage, healthy eating and relaxation.  And it went pretty well.  Until lunch on day three.  We sauntered in to a restaurant in Sarasota, Florida--a French restaurant with a very French waiter.  First, we wanted a diet drink with no caffeine.  Who the hell goes into a restaurant like this and drinks anything but wine?  Sigh.  As I recall the waiter did a whole bunch of sighing.  Then we placed our orders.  I wanted some sort of salad with, basically, none of the listed ingredients.  And everything else on the side, thank you so very much.  Miss Hower ordered the salade aux champignons.  Only she didn't want any mushrooms with that salad.  In case you don't speak French,  champignons are mushrooms.  Needless to say, I think that poor waiter had to change his shirt because he was sweating so much.  I cannot sit and write this story without laughing out loud.  Fifteen years later.  

The point of this little walk down memory lane is to say how blessed I feel to be able to say to a friend--who has graciously invited you to dinner--that you do not want any champignons, and she totally gets it.  With grace and style.  Thank you Miss Hower, you are the best, and I know you will always have my back.  xoxo, Miss Ives.