Chapter 18
“It’s amazing that we’re completely booked up again with this cooking week,” Ivy said to Poppy, closing the drawer where they kept keys at the front desk. The last-minute Halloween party had turned last week into a success. “You and Diya are a marketing dream team.”
Poppy smiled at the compliment. “She’s a lot of fun to work with. And everyone loves yummy food. Are you and Shelly still visiting the pumpkin patch today?”
“After the cooking school is in session,” Ivy replied. They were adding more for the fall harvest feast, and Shelly wanted to take photos of Daisy in the pumpkin patch.
Having checked in the last guest for the start of their cooking week, Ivy and Poppy sat down at the front desk to catch their breaths.
The inn was full of guests hungry for Diya Donnelly’s autumn specialties.
The plan was for them to cook during the day, preparing an evening meal.
They would dine in the formal dining room or create a casual setting on the patio under the stars and heat lamps, with an ocean serenade in the background.
At least, that’s how Diya described it. She would also show them how to decorate their tables with ordinary objects elevated with flair, from rustic to elegant. She planned to adorn driftwood with pine branches and arrange multicolored gourds around them.
Their high-spirited high priestess of the kitchen had swept in with her supplies like a whirlwind.
“Should we check on Diya?” Poppy asked.
“I think we should.”
They made their way to the kitchen, where Diya had commandeered the area in her chef’s whites, her long, dark auburn hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. As she barked orders, an assistant scurried around to fulfill Diya’s vision.
“Darlings,” Diya said, opening her arms to them. “How about a hot cup of cranberry tea and my chai sugar cookies?”
Ivy smiled at the other woman’s enthusiasm. “How can we resist?”
They perched on the stools at the long center island, which was ideal for cooking instruction, giving students space to work in the industrial-sized kitchen built for large-scale entertaining and catering teams. Even though this house had been the Ericksons’ summer home, they lived a life nearly as grand here as in San Francisco.
That thought reminded Ivy that she should call Viola, the current owner of the Ericksons’ main residence, who helped raise funds for the inn’s renovation with a grand gala last year. Viola and her niece Meredith would be intrigued at their most recent discovery.
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. “I recommend 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.
“What about that menu Diya suggested?” Poppy asked.
“I’ll put Mitch and Diya together. Whatever comes out of that is up to Mitch. Sometimes the best way to handle decisions is to get out of the middle and let those who know what they’re doing decide.”
“How large is the guest list now?” Poppy asked as they walked back to the foyer.
Ivy ticked off names on her fingers. “Your family and Flint’s are coming, along with Shelly and Mitch, plus Bennett’s sister and her family.
Let’s include Gilda and Darla, of course.
I hope Vanz’s mother will come, and then there’s Jen and George.
Jen has a sister, Jessica, whose husband shipped out for another tour in the Navy.
They have three children, and I hate for them to be alone.
Jen and Jessica also make the most wonderful French pastries from old family recipes. ”
“I remember. Those are delicious.” Poppy did a quick count in her head.
“That’s about thirty-five people so far, Aunt Ivy.
Probably more. I know you love to invite friends.
” She took out a pad of paper from the front desk.
“I’ll create a guest list and shopping list to make sure we have enough food. Anyone else you can think of?”
“There might be a few more,” Ivy said as Poppy started her list. “I wish Mom and Dad could be here, but they’re visiting friends in South Africa. After that, they’ll have a long voyage crossing the South Atlantic to Brazil with a stop in St. Helena.”
Poppy tapped her pencil. “My dream is to be like them someday. Sailing around the world in their seventies is amazing.”
“We all want to be like them.” Ivy imagined the adventures they were having along the way, and she was truly happy for them. They were living their best life, but she still missed them.
“Bennett and I will provide the main dishes and most of the side dishes unless people want to pitch in,” Ivy said. “People will bring desserts, so that will help.”
“I love the variety,” Poppy said. “It’s smart that you added those additional electric ovens during the renovation for events and cooking school weeks. They will come in handy for the holidays.”
“I thought we’d use the ballroom this year and serve buffet style,” Ivy said. “We have plenty of warming units we can plug in. With all the chandeliers lit, it will be beautiful.”
Ivy had been looking forward to hosting everyone in the newly restored space. With the new electrical system, she didn’t have to worry about tripping breakers anymore. That was a luxury to her.
Even though they would have a lot of family and friends joining them for the harvest feast, the house would handle them all this year.
Poppy made her list. “So it seems the only thing we have to worry about is having enough food for everyone’s taste.”
“So it would seem,” Ivy said, smiling. “But let’s not jinx it.” As she’d come to learn, anything could happen with a crowd that size.