I want to write food fiction

Author's Note: This was first written on July 15.

Last night the Mister and I took my mother, father, brother and sister-in-law to a dinner sponsored by Slow Food Denver featuring dishes highlighting grass-fed Colorado cheese (mostly from Windsor Dairy) and paired with Colorado wines (and, for one course, beer).  Chef Michael managed to include lots of other local products, sweet corn from Brighton in the cold corn chowder with the mini-grilled cheese (with Fat Tire Sunshine Wheat), grilled Denver peaches gleaned from residential street trees with the Haystack Mountain fresh chevre over fresh greens, Boulder bison, St. Lois Valley quinoa, . . .

Preparing to attend Slow Foods Dinner

I bought the tickets at a silent auction during the Society of Ethnobiology conference I attended in Denver in April and was a little nervous about attending a function at a giant private house in the foothills, knowing nothing about the "typical" attendee at such an event.  Fortunately, slow food brings out friendly sorts and my parents can talk with anyone about wine and cheese.  Well. let's face it, my mother can talk to most anyone about anything, and by the time the ricotta mousse with sand plum sauce came around, she had invitations to a harvest party at a Pallisade winery from one woman at our table, and over Chocolove chocolates and Evergreen Winery port on the patio (made from Norton grapes and as complex at the dinner as it is at the winery [which is somehow much better than when one buys a bottle and brings it home and it just tastes syrupy]), she set up play dates for my nieces in Germany.  I learned a great deal about what's being produced on the front range and all together it was a was a lovely evening with good food and good company.

Except it didn't happen.  The whole Slow Foods dinner was a ruse to get my parents to a friends' house for a surprise anniversary party*.  They were surprised.  Sixty four people showed up to wish them well and drink wine.  It was a lovely evening with good food and good wine.

A few friends are disbelieving that there never was a Slow Foods event, or that I envisioned this much detail into the event (these friends apparently don't receive my April Fools e-mails).  But my parents are like me.  We like anticipation.  I knew that they would look up Windsor Diary after I started talking to them about it.  I printed directions to a specific house (I found it on Zillow-- it was for sale for 1.9 million) that was just the right location (in the foothills, giant, 20 minutes from the friend who was going to babysit) because I doubted my father would head to any event without directions.  Of course, I didn't reveal all of this detail.  I was spinning a story.  Authors sometimes need to know their characters breakfast choices.  Readers rarely do.  I want to write food fiction.

Happy Anniversary (in a few weeks) Mom and Dad.  I'm glad you married each other.  Thanks to everyone for making a great event.

*Hint, if you want a surprise party to be a surprise, throw it at a time removed from a big event.  My father did not see his surprise 43rd birthday party coming.  My mother was a little taken-aback at her surprise 50th birthday party, because, well, her birthday was in June and the party was at the end of August.  Similarly, Mom and Dad did not expect a 45th anniversary party a month and a half before their anniversary (and, as it happens, I would have thrown the party this year had it been 44 or 46 . . . it was that my family and my brother's family were both in town).