A candle is lit. Fairy lights sparkle, illuminating titles of the cook books on the window ledge. Ingredients are delicately chopped and measured into small bowls.
The sun has set. Outside the trees dance in the wind and inside, the kitchen is pleasantly inviting. Music plays from the laptop on the counter. The scent of garlic and onions sauteing on the stove means the ritual has begun. This is the Ritual of Dinner Time.
Great care is taken, each detail noticed. Potatoes sliced just the right size for how the dish should look. Earthenware bowls and wooden spoons placed on the table will hold roasted vegetables and salads, soon to be surrounded by the laughter and voices of loved ones.
A bottle of Pinot Gris chills in the fridge. I turn on the light in the oven and peek at the chicken roasting in the pan through the glass. It’s juices will make the perfect gravy. The football game plays in the living room and the delicious scents floating from the kitchen entice to sneak over and snack on a piece of cheese from the cutting board.
Chicken stock, mushrooms, shallots, fresh bread baked in the afternoon. Garlic, asparagus, broccoli and linguini from the pantry. Each ingredient as important as the next. Together they’ll weave a tapestry of flavor and contentment.
Now comes time to serve the meal. We gather at the table. The clinking of glasses and cutlery. Conversation about our day or plans for a future trip to the woods.
Time stands still in the safety of home while outside the city buzzes around us.