By Lee & Lou Havlicek.
Lee & Lou Cook.
Dinners so long and unhurried and lovely that you have no idea how it’s been hours since you first sat down are the greatest way to end any day, but in the summer, they seem quintessential. Though there are stretches of time each year that weeks go by without one, these evenings seem to create themselves when the weather’s hot and the sun stays out late and good friends seem to never disappear for too long.
Yes, there’s life and work and things to be done, shockingly, besides making exquisite meals to share, but we try, at the very least, to build our weekends around these things: Taking our time to cook, filling our kitchen and table with incredible people and our bellies with incredible foods, spending far longer than we assumed but just as long as we hoped talking, eating, and rushing absolutely nowhere.
This past week, our Sunday dinner was exactly that. It was just the two of us and Lee’s oldest friend Michelle, one of the most constant and most participatory (she once juiced 52 limes—fifty. two.—in record time when a serious need for birthday margaritas arose) visitors to our kitchen over the past…seriously shocking number of years.
Sometimes, cooking is a mission (like, say, when there are 52 limes to be juiced and thirsty women awaiting), and sometimes, it’s so easygoing that you start talking between getting out a pan and finishing the sauce, or pause to tell a story in between garlic cloves, or open a bottle of wine while you’re waiting for the water to boil, and your fastest recipes take the better part of the afternoon—and it seems like the best thing. But then, you haven’t even sat down to eat yet, so just wait. This is the way the most memorable summer evenings wind to a close in our house: slowly but wordy, full in every sense of the word, and very, very deliciously. A multi-tasking mouth is necessary.
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