The Tribe Comes Together for a Sort-of Moroccan Easter Feast

A colorful cast of characters come for Easter dinner

 

The Tribe Comes Together for a Sort-of Moroccan Easter Feast

 

by

 

Jon McDonald

 

           

Delgado was tending to the two large legs of lamb.  The butcher had butterflied them beautifully.  Now they must marinate over night.  They would go onto the grill on the deck just as the guests were arriving for an Easter celebration around noon tomorrow.  Delgado, who was from Argentina, had a way with grilled meats.  And although this was going to be a Moroccan feast, Delgado was preparing the lamb in his own very special way.   First he had slathered the lamb with salt and pepper.  Then he made a marinade of olive oil, tons of minced garlic, freshly grated ginger, soy sauce and handfuls of freshly chopped rosemary.  He laid out the lamb in two large flat baking pans and poured the marinade over the lamb, turning it several times with tongs to make sure the entire lamb was covered.  He then placed plastic wrap over the pans and placed them in the refrigerator to infuse them with flavor over night.

Bryce and Delgado, who were both in their mid-thirties, lived in Laguna Beach, California in a very funky house perched high above the Pacific Ocean with a view that stretched all the way from the Palos Verdes peninsula in the north down to San Diego in the south.  Easter was going to be in mid April this year and the weather was shaping up to be spectacular. 

This was Laguna Beach back in the mid 1970’s before the real estate explosion and the sky rocketing housing prices changed Laguna from a sleepy little beach village to a trendy destination.  Artists could still afford to live and work here then.  The Renaissance Bakery still served its famous hearty borscht.  And people would breakfast from eight-thirty till eleven, leisurely reading newspapers, and chatting over numerous cups of coffee.  Eschbach’s was a downtown flower shop in a faux gnome castle with towers, turrets and a stunning Christmas display each year.  People lined up outside the shop and were willing to pay fifty cents just to get inside and browse the multitude of decorated Christmas trees and do a bit of shopping. There were no tee shirt or frozen yogurt shops then, and there were actually times when the beaches would be virtually empty on weekdays even in the summer.

The boy’s house had a steep flight of steps that wound up from the street below.  There was one very large Eucalyptus tree slightly shading part of the house, but the rest of the hillside was devoid of trees and consisted only of rough ground cover barely supported by the poor soil.  The house had one large room that stretched across the front, with the exterior walls a constant row of windows to take advantage of the spectacular views. There was a simple kitchen, a bedroom and a bath at the back of the house.  A large deck warped around two sides - one side being the front of the house, and the other was along the entrance by the kitchen.

Both Bryce and Delgado were passionate about roses and had managed to enrich a plot of soil, below the deck by the entrance, enough to support a bed of quite hearty rose bushes just now about to burst into their first bloom of the season.  They had been watching the buds carefully, with great anticipation, hoping they would bloom by Easter.  They wanted to use them to decorate the long table set up on the deck for the dinner.

Just as dusk was descending on this Saturday evening before Easter, Delgado went outside, once again, to check on the roses.  He inspected them carefully and was convinced that they would indeed open up into full bloom tomorrow morning.  He checked the soil and decided not to water this evening, as he did not want to over-water and risk delaying the blooms.

Bryce was busy in the kitchen preparing Ommok Houria, a Tunisian carrot salad to be served with sliced hard-boiled eggs and pitted kalamata olives.  He had peeled, sliced and cooked the carrots till they were tender and transferred them to a large bowl.  He minced flat leaf parsley and added that.  He finished it off with caraway seeds, olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper and a wonderful Moroccan spice paste call Harissa.  He mixed this well and covered the bowl and let it rest at room temperature over night.  He would add the eggs and olives when he prepared the platter tomorrow just before serving.

*      *      *

            Sandra, an expansive lady in her early sixties, lived just down the coast from the boys.  She was perched in a tower over the ocean with the waves constantly crashing beneath her.  Her apartment was part of a large old, early twentieth century, estate that spread across the cliffs above a private beach.  The estate had been subdivided into apartments of various sizes and Sandra had been living in her small tower for several years.

            She dressed mostly in beige and black, with large hats, flowing scarves and bold contemporary jewelry; and as she was a tall woman, she could carry off the most stunning outfits with great aplomb.  She had excellent and expensive tastes, and a large portion of her income as an architect went into her extensive wardrobe.

            Sandra loved Easter and had been coloring eggs for several days.  She planned to go early to the party and with Bryce’s help hide the eggs around the property for the hunt after dinner.  She had a gold egg and silver egg that represented first and second prize for whoever found them.  She had neatly wrapped gifts in colorful Easter paper for the prizewinners.  She also had chocolate eggs, marshmallow bunnies with pink ears and marzipan eggs wrapped in brightly colored foil.

            Now Sandra knew that the theme of this Easter was to be a Moroccan feast but her culinary talents did not stretch too much further than her hard boiled Easter eggs.  However, her one sure-fire dinner contribution and crowd pleaser was the always stunning canned green beans in mushroom soup, garnished with a can of French fried onions.  Well it was almost Moroccan.  After all France had occupied Morocco for many years.  Certainly by now her green bean recipe must be a Moroccan staple.  All she would need to do tomorrow morning would be to heat it through in the oven just before she left for the party.

*      *      *

            Butch and Flavia had known Bryce and Delgado from their New York days.  Flavia was also from Argentina and had known Delgado when they were both dancers in Buenos Aires.  Butch had been a taxi driver in Manhattan, though she was from Brooklyn.  Butch and Flavia had been a couple for almost ten years now.  Bryce and Delgado had been together for four years. 

            Butch was New York Irish-Italian.  She could make a great braciole (her aunt’s recipe), an Argentine asado (thanks to her time in Argentina with Flavia) or a bang up corned beef and cabbage dinner - her dad loved it.  Today she was making baklava with wildflower honey.  This might be considered more Greek than Moroccan but who cared, Butch figured. 

            Flavia was nagging on about how she wanted the kitchen cabinets painted and was waving paint samples at Butch as she was trying to cook.  Butch was just finishing up the syrup for the desert �" a cup and a half of wildflower honey, a half-cup of water, a tablespoon of lemon juice, three cloves and a cinnamon stick.  She had boiled the ingredients and was checking the temperature with a candy thermometer for a 230º reading.

            “What do you think about the Adriatic Yellow?” Flavia asked, holding up the paint sample against side of the cabinet by the kitchen window.

            “Love ya to pieces,” Butch declared, as she removed the solid ingredients from the syrup. “But this is not a good time for me to be discussing paint colors.  Do you think you could give me a helping hand instead?”

            “Oh jeeze,” Flavia replied, “What ya need?”

            “Could you please check the phyllo dough and see if it’s okay?  Gotta keep it moist.”

            Flavia peeked under the moist towel and gently fingered the dough and it was fine.  “Just dandy.”

            “Good.  Now hand me the filling.”

            Flavia handed her the bowl �" two thirds cup pistachios, one half cup of almonds and one third cup of walnuts all coarsely chopped with a quarter cup of sugar and cinnamon, cardamom and touch of salt.  Butch had also added a couple of secret ingredients of her own - some orange and lemon zest and a moistening of cognac.

            “Thanks.  Gotta work quickly now so the dough doesn’t dry out.”  Butch commented, and then proceeded to line a buttered baking dish with a leaf of the phyllo dough, and then brushed it with melted butter.  She repeated this with another leaf till she had a layer of six.  She was using so much butter you would have thought that she had a cow stationed outside the back door.  She covered the remaining dough with the moist towel and reached for the bowl with the filling.  She spread a third of the filling over the dough in the baking dish and repeated this two more times with the dough and the filling.  She then cut the baklava into diamond shapes and shoved it into a 400º oven till crisp and brown, about 35 minutes. 

            When it was done she pulled it out and put it on a rack to cool, and carefully poured the honeyed syrup over the entire pan, letting it soak into the cooling pastry.

            “Damn, you’re good.”  Flavia leaned over and kissed the back of Butch’s neck.  “Can I have a piece?”  She reached over and picked at the edge of the sweet temptation. 

            Butch slapped her hand.  “Bryce would skin me alive if I came to the party with a piece missing.  You’re just going to have to wait.”

            “Awww.”  Flavia sulked and smacked Butch back with a paint sample.

*      *      *

            George lived in a fantasy house on a cliff right above the ocean.  His house looked like a French half-timber manor with a Norman tower that descended to the beach via a spiral staircase.  George had been a Hollywood cinematographer for many years but escaped from the rat race to retire to his retreat where he puttered and lovingly restored his dream house over several years. 

            George had a houseguest this weekend.  Samantha was a British lady of some years (she would never reveal her true age) who resided in New York City and would visit for several weeks at a time.  They had met many years ago on the beaches of Mexico, and had kept up a scintillating friendship ever since. 

            George was adept at salads and simple breakfasts involving smoked salmon but had absolutely no idea how to approach a Moroccan feast.  On this Saturday morning he was plowing through a Mediterranean cookbook someone had given him one Christmas because “the pictures were so nice.”  He was mumbling and cursing and swatting at pages looking for something suitable.  Samantha came to the rescue.

            “I can’t believe you have no idea how to cook at your advanced age.” She taunted as she pulled the book from him and turned smartly to the index.  She studied the entries under Morocco and pointed.  “Here, just the thing.”  She pronounced as she selected a Tagine Batata Hloowa, pointing to the entry like she was instructing a toddler in calculus.

            George stared at her as though she had just given birth to a calf.  “I have no idea what that is.”

            “Of course not, you’re an infidel.”  She pointed to the top of a kitchen cabinet where he had a fancy array of culinary pottery displayed - all for decoration; probably covered in dust; and without a doubt never used.  “And what do you suppose that is?”  She asked in a very superior mode, pointing to a rough looking dish with a tall conical lid.

            “A dish.”  He replied, not about to let her snippy attitude cow him.

            “A tagine.”  She smirked.  “A Moroccan baking dish.”

            “Well goodie.  Looks like it will hold a dandy salad.”

            “Oh…” She brushed him aside and started rummaging through his cupboards and refrigerator.  “Get it down.”

            “Please?”  He taunted.

            “Yes.  Please.”  She looked at it as he brought it down.  “And clean it up while you’re at it.”

            As he was washing the tagine she pulled out several cans of pearl onions left over from some Christmas long ago �" some yams, some carrots and a bag of somewhat dried out pitted prunes.  “Do you have any sesame seeds?” She asked fishing through a cupboard of spices and pulling out what else she would need to season the dish.

            “What are they?”

            ‘Useless, useless.” She mumbled, finally finding a small packet at the back of the shelf.  “Good, this will work out nicely.”

            “Need any help?” He asked, beginning to feel somewhat useless.

            She looked around at what she had gathered.  “Yes, can you peel the yams?  You do have a peeler somewhere, yes?”

            He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a splendid peeler, presenting it to her like he had just brought home the Heiseman Trophy.

            “Excellent.” 

            He continued to hold it up, quite unaware what to do with it.

            “So peel the potatoes.”  She nudged.

            “Oh, yeah.”  He turned to the sink and began to peel the yams.

            Samantha sautéed the pearl onions in a pan with some butter.  She took out half and placed them aside.  George had finished peeling the yams. 

            “Here peel and slice these.”  She directed, giving George several carrots.  She cubed the yams and placed them in the sauté pan with the remaining onions and added the carrots when George was done, cooking them till they were slightly browned.  She added two cups of vegetable broth, a quarter cup of honey, some cinnamon, ground ginger, a cup of the pitted and chopped prunes and some salt and pepper.  She placed the entire mixture into the bottom of the tagine, covered it with the lid and put it into a 400º oven and baked it till the vegetables were tender.  When she lifted off the tagine lid the most delicate and intoxicating aromas filled the kitchen.  Samantha added the reserved onions and cooked the tagine for five minutes more.  She had toasted the sesame seeds and kept them aside to sprinkle over the tagine just before serving.

            George commented as she took the tagine out of the oven for the last time.  “Wow that smells pretty damn good.”

            Samantha nodded and acknowledged the obvious.  “Of course.”

*      *      *

Delgado was up early Easter morning, basting the lamb once again with the marinade before it would go on the grill.  He was an early riser and almost always preceded Bryce to the shower.  He puttered in the kitchen, making coffee, and feeding the cat.  He snacked on some left over pizza from the night before and then, with great anticipation, stepped outside to check the roses.  He stood on the deck, greeted the sun, just now crowning the hill behind the house and stretched.  He walked down to the rose bushes to inspect the blooms and was in complete shock when he saw that all the buds were nipped off cleanly at the stem.  He let out a cry and raced back into the house, through to the bedroom, and threw himself on top of Bryce soundly asleep, snuggled up in the bed.  Bryce scrambled awake and sat up with a shock.

“What?” 

“The deer! They’ve gotten all the roses.”

“What?”  He could hardly focus let alone comprehend what Delgado was saying.

“Our roses.  Gone.”

Bryce was still not getting it.  “You got roses?”

“No.  The deer.  They…have…eaten…all…the…roses.”

Now Bryce got it.  He leapt out of bed and rushed stark naked outside and dashed down to the rose bed.  He examined the truncated bushes.  “What makes you think it was deer?”

“Do you know of any rose burglars out and about?” Delgado snidely remarked.  He stared at Bryce.  “Will you please come inside?  We don’t need to have you arrested for indecent exposure on Easter Sunday.

“But our roses.  They were just perfect.  What are we going to do for the table?  I didn’t get any other flowers because we had these.”  Bryce stumbled back into the house, stubbing his toe on the steps to the deck, mumbling and cursing.

*      *      *

            Dan and Virginia, a couple now in their early forties, had spent about ten years in Iran, teaching music and theatre.  This was long before the revolution and they had been favored by the Shah and his Queen in their educational endeavors. 

Though it was not quite Moroccan, they were going to prepare a delicious crispy rice dish �" a favorite from their Iranian days.

Virginia came in from the garden with an armful of freshly clipped Iris in a variety of soft pastel colors to take to the party.  She knew how much Bryce and Delgado loved to decorate the table for their famous feasts.  Dan was working away on the rice dish.  She placed the blooms into water till time to leave for the party just before noon.

Dan had washed three cups of rice, picked over and cooked a cup and a half of lentils for ten minutes and drained them.  He was now sautéing one onion, thinly sliced, in oil.  He added a cup of raisins, two cups of pitted chopped dates and two tablespoons of slivered, candied orange peel, mixing well and setting the mixture aside.

“What is this?”  Virginia asked with a laugh as she came back into the kitchen from the bedroom.

“Oh my god, that’s Drippy. I’d completely forgotten I still had that.” Dan explained.  “Where’d you find it?”

“At the bottom of your sock drawer.”

“Snooping for dirty secrets, huh?” he joked.

“No-o-o-o.  Was putting laundry away, Mr. Smarty.”

Virginia closely examined Drippy.  It was a yellow sponge rubber ring about the size of a fifty-cent piece with a component of faux paste flowers at the top.  “A bit small for a sex toy,” she commented.

Dan laughed.  “Well yes, as you know, I would need something considerably larger.”

“You are so bad.”

Dan continued working on the rice.  He had cooked and drained three cups of long grain basmati rice and rinsed it several times.  In the pot he had cooked the rice he poured half a cup of melted clarified butter. 

“And exactly what is �" and how do you happen to have �" this Drippy?” Virginia continued pressing forward with her enquiry.

Dan placed two large serving spoons of rice, two tablespoons of yogurt and a few drops of one teaspoon of ground saffron dissolved into four tablespoons of hot water in the pot with the butter.  He spread this mixture over the bottom of the pan.  This would help create a golden crust.

“Well many Christmases ago when I was just a kid my family got this arcane object as a present from my grandparents.  Its intended use was a complete mystery to all of us.  You can imagine the speculation as to its use or abuse.  It became such a hit that it was given back and forth as a joke present over many seasons.  I can’t remember how, but at some point we delicately asked the grandparents what it was for, not wanting to offend them, of course, by not knowing its use.  Well, it turns out that it was meant to be placed over the spout of a teapot to catch drips - and was thus christened Drippy.  Somehow over the years I ended up with it and it migrated to my sock drawer and was forgotten till some daring archeologist rediscovered it amongst the Temples of Sock.”

Dan put two more heaping spoons of rice in the pot.  He had a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, cumin and ground rose petals.  He sprinkled half the mixture over the rice.  He added a spoonful of lentils, some of the raisin mixture and then more rice �" repeating the layering till it was all in the pot.  He then sprinkled the rest of the spice mixture over the pyramid of rice and fruit.  He covered the pot and cooked it for ten minutes more over medium heat.

“Well what would you think if I warped up Drippy and we gave it to the boys and let them see if they figure out what it is?  Unless, of course, it is an ancestral treasure by now that must not be parted with.”

“No, that’s a great idea.  Do you mind wrapping it?  I’m kinda tied up with this right now.”

“Sure.”  She disappeared.

After the ten minutes of cooking the rice Dan poured a mixture of one more half cup of clarified butter with half a cup of water over the rice mixture.  He then poured the remaining saffron water over it as well.  He placed a towel over the pot and covered that firmly with the pot lid.  It continued to cook over low heat for fifty minutes more. 

Virginia came back with a small, beautifully wrapped gift.  “I found an old ring box.  I think it will make the perfect presentation for Drippy, don’t you think?”

Dan smiled.  “Splendid.”  He removed the pot from the stove and let it cool covered for five minutes.  This would help free the crust from the bottom of the pot.  He would serve the rice when they arrived at the party.  Detaching the crusty rice from the bottom and serving it around the mound of softer rice.

*      *      *

Alan and Robert were to drive down to Laguna Beach from Los Angeles.  Alan had been Bryce’s lover many years ago when Bryce had worked in the Cameroon in the Peace Corps and Alan, who was French, had been there as a member of Doctors Without Borders.  Alan had settled in Los Angeles at a prestigious research institute.  He had met the younger Robert who had been his waiter at L’Orangerie one fateful evening.  They had become a couple soon after.  Bryce and Alan had remained good friends �" but much more like family really.

Alan and Robert, neither particularly adept at cooking, had concocted an appetizer tray of pita, hummus, kalamata olives, sliced cucumber and cubes of feta cheese. 

“You’re not going to wear that?” Alan queried, looking askance at the ‘Barney’ purple shirt Robert was putting on.

“What’s wrong with it?  It’s Easter.”  Robert responded.  “I think it’s nice and colorful.”

“Oh please, go as a bunny if you like, but please spare us that.  You look like a pregnant Easter egg.”

“And how exactly can an Easter egg be pregnant, if you please?  An egg is already pregnant.  How can it be pregnant, pregnant?”

Alan waved this comment away.

“I suppose you’re concerned what Bryce will think of me.”  Robert poked back.

“Oh Robert.”  Alan said dismissively.  “Don’t give me that ‘jealous of Bryce’ routine again.   You know that was a gazillion years ago.  I only have undying affection for your sweet little a*s.  You know that.”  He swatted Robert on the behind with his towel.  “Here, try this on.”  Alan handed Robert a stunning sunny yellow silk shirt from his side of the closet.

“Oooo, very nice.”  Robert took the shirt and sensually slipped it on.  “Mine to keep?”

“Not on your life.”  Alan chose a deep blood red silk shirt for himself and started to put it on.

“Oh, you’re not going to wear that, are you?”  Robert added, looking at Alan with a wry smile.

They left at ten thirty in order to arrive in Laguna by twelve.

*      *      *

Bryce was in charge of tending to the charcoal grill and was letting the briquettes reach temperature before Delgado put on the lamb.   It was just a little after eleven and Bryce and Delgado could hear Sandra calling from the street below.  She was the first guest to arrive and was calling for some help in bringing up her dozens of eggs, prizes and of course the famous green bean casserole.  Bryce tumbled down the steps to help.

“You have to help me hide these.”  Sandra said, indicating the cartons of colored eggs.  “We have to get them all hidden before the others get here.”

“Of course.”  Bryce offered.  “Oh your green bean casserole.”  He commented, peering into one of the shopping bags, and not quite able to mask his disappointment.  “You do know the theme of this party is Morocco.”

“Oh, I know.  But everybody would be so disappointed if I didn’t bring this.  You can’t mess with tradition.”

“I guess.”

They finally reached the summit and Bryce helped Sandra with her various bags and bundles.  She immediately began issuing orders once she had greeted, embraced and kissed Delgado on both cheeks.  “Is the white wine nice and cold?” She hinted.

“Oh yes, you ready?”  Delgado asked.

She looked at him like he had just escaped from the rubber room.

“I’ll bring it right over.”  Delgado smartly poured her a glass.

She turned back to Bryce.  “Now, these are the marzipan eggs.  We should mix them up with the regular ones and these chocolate eggs in the foil.  I’ll put the prizes over here.  Aren’t they nicely wrapped?  I just love the little chickies on this paper, don’t you?”

“Ah….” Bryce tried to answer but was cut off.

“If you’ll just take these then, we can get them all securely hidden.  Do you like my hat?  It’s new.”

“Ravishing.”

Delgado brought the wine to Sandra.  “How’s the grill?”  Delgado asked Bryce, trying to rescue him.

“Let’s just go check.”

The two of them escaped to the deck.

“Be right back.”  Bryce waved to Sandra, and giggling the two rushed to the grill to check on the coals.

“I’ll just get the eggs out of the bags.  Don’t be long.” Sandra sang out.

“I still have to make the yogurt sauce.”  Bryce said to Delgado as he poked at the glowing coals.

“The coals are just about ready.”  Delgado added.  “Shall I put the lamb on yet?  What do ya think?”

“How long does it take?”

“I’m thinking about forty-five minuets to an hour.”

Bryce checked his watch.  It was now eleven thirty.  “No one’s ever on time.  We don’t want it over cooked.  Let’s wait till twelve.”

They started back towards the entrance to the house.  As they passed the already set table Bryce sadly noticed the lack of roses. 

“Hey guys.”  Margot called out to the boys as she appeared at the top of the steps, all flounces, lace and a tie died shawl, her arms filled with bunches of flowers and a grocery flat laden with an assortment of luscious looking fruits.

“Margot!”  Delgado shouted out as he came forward taking the flat of fruit and giving her a big kiss on the cheek.  “Look at you, all dressed up in your Easter drag.”  Delgado turned to Bryce.  “Here are the flowers for your table after all.”

“Great.” 

Margot was an aerobics instructor at a very exclusive health spa in Topanga Canyon.  She was trim and saucy in a very California blonde kind of way. 

“Man, these look fantastic.”  Bryce commented poking at the fruit in the flat.  “Are these from Gypsy Boots?” - A place known for its superior fruits and vegetables.

‘Oh yeah.  And if you like I’ll put together a fruit salad.  Not very Moroccan I guess, but hey fruit is universal no?”  Margot spotted Sandra and rushed over to give her a big hug.  “Don’t you look fantastic.”  Margot commented to Sandra.

“You like my new hat?”

Margot belted out a laugh.  “You are too funny.”

Sandra was a little hurt.  “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh I love it.  Love you.  Just glad to see you.”

“Glass of wine?”  Delgado offered.

“Natch.”  Margot took the offering and laughed again.

Sandra pulled at Bryce’s sleeve.  “The eggs….” 

“Oh yeah.”

Just then Samantha appeared, tagine in hand, followed by George lagging behind as he ascended the last of the steps.  He was not in the best of shape.

“George was hopeless at anything Moroccan so I put together this nice little vegetarian tagine for the dinner.”  Samantha offered.

“Splendid.”  Delgado accepted the tagine.  “Does it need to be heated?”

“That would be great.  Then I have to sprinkle these on top.”  She added shaking the packet of toasted sesame seeds.

George came forward with a couple of bottles of wine.  “Hi all, Sandra, Margot.”  He nodded.

Bryce whispered to Delgado.  “I’ve got to make the yogurt sauce.  I think you can put the lamb on now if you like.”  Delgado nodded and took the lamb out of the refrigerator.

“Bryce, the eggs.”  Sandra tried reaching Bryce with her urgency.

“Be right there.  Just need to make this first.”  He called back.  He was concocting a sauce to serve with the lamb.  It consisted of Greek yogurt, minced garlic, shredded cucumber, freshly chopped mint from the garden and lemon juice.  Delgado, having put the lamb on the grill, was passing out more glasses of wine.  Samantha had gone up to Sandra and was commenting on her new hat.  Sandra momentarily forgot about the eggs.

Butch and Flavia poked their way into the kitchen bearing the baklava.

“Here take a whiff of this?”  Butch offered Bryce as he was grating a cucumber.

“Wow!  Do we need to heat that up later?”

“No, it’s better at room temp.”

Flavia was chatting with Margot and George.

Dan and Virginia and Robert and Alan all arrived at the same time.  Delgado’s lamb on the grill sent clouds of smoke from the olive oil and lamb juices wafting towards the crowd.  Delgado raced over to turn the lamb and damped down the flames with a spray bottle of water.

“Do you have a serving platter I can use?” Dan asked Bryce as he was finishing up the sauce.

“Ah yeah, right up there.”  Bryce pointed to the top of a kitchen cabinet.

“Hi sexy.”  Alan leaned in and gave Bryce a kiss.

“Hey guy, you made it.  Great.  Robert here?”

“Of course.  He’s setting out the appetizers.  Brought some wine as well.”  Alan added.

“Great.  There’s some more over there.  Help yourselves.”

Bryce was frantically trying to make some table decorations with the flowers that had been brought when Sandra came over. 

“The eggs.”  Sandra commanded.

Bryce looked up.  “Could you find someone else to help, my dear?  I’m just swamped here.”

Margot leaned in.  “Do you have a paring knife for the fruit?”

“In that drawer.” He indicated.

Dan was plating piles of rice next to Bryce at the counter.  Samantha was placing the tagine into the oven on the other side.  Margot was slicing fruit.  Delgado suddenly appeared behind Bryce and put his arms around his waist and laid his head against Bryce’s shoulder. 

“Hey Honey, would you like a glass of wine?”

“I’d love one.” He sighed.

*      *      *

Sandra had finally found a willing soul to help her hide the eggs.  Robert had gladly obliged.  Actually Robert did most of the hiding with Sandra pointing to exactly where she wanted each treasure hidden. 

The lamb was perfectly pink.  The green bean casserole was lavishly praised, though somewhat passed over.  The crispy Persian rice was a delight.  The delicate vegetarian tagine was succulent.  And the honeyed baklava was the perfect ending to the meal, accompanied by mounds of fruit salad.

Sandra orchestrated the Easter egg hunt and awarded the prizes to the lucky finders of the gold and silver eggs.  The wine was liberally consumed.  And after several rounds of Pictionary; several hands of bridge for the card players in the group; and lengthy spirited conversations leaning on the deck railings watching the sun sink behind Catalina, the guests finally gathered their platters, bowls and tagine and disappeared into the rosy dusk after a most successful and appreciated feast.

Dan, Virginia and Margot had lingered behind to help with clearing the table and the washing up.  Margot left directly after, as she had a long drive back to the spa. 

Bryce brought out the cognac and a few candles and the four of them that were left settled into deck chairs to watch the stars come out and the new crescent moon dip gently into the ocean. 

“Dan?”  Virginia nudged him and nodded her head.  He looked at her not understanding.  “The box.”  She added.

“Oh yeah, totally forgot.”  He fished in his jacket and pulled out the little present for the boys.  “Here, we found this treasured family heirloom that we thought was totally you guys.”

Bryce accepted the gift - very obviously a ring box.  “Oh wow.  Really?”  He handed the box to Delgado and let him unwrap it.  He tore off the paper and seeing that it was a ring box looked at Bryce with some hesitation.  Was this going to be some horribly expensive gift that they just could not accept?

“Go ahead.  Open it.”  Dan prompted.

Delgado handed it back to Bryce who snapped open the lid.  They both stared in mute bewilderment at Drippy, having no idea whatsoever what it was.

Bryce sequenced up his face and looked at Dan.  “Not quite sure what this is exactly.  But I like the little floral arrangement on the top.  Care to enlighten us as to what it is?”

Both Dan and Virginia rolled about with laughter.

Finally Dan replied, “Ah, the mysteries of the Universe.  You have been presented with the immutable Drippy.  One of the great secrets of all time and space.  It is now in your possession and it will be up to the two of you to decipher what can be revealed only by the study and practice of the uses and abuses of the revered Drippy.”

Both Dan and Virginia lapsed back into a fit of laughing.  Bryce and Delgado more closely examined the gift but could not fathom the mystery so set it aside for the time being. 

They continued to chat softly in the light of the few candles for awhile, and then finally Dan and Margot excused themselves and departed, leaving Bryce and Delgado, exhausted, content and already half way dreaming.

The leftovers were neatly wrapped and stored.  The bare table on the deck was waiting to be dismantled in the morning and stored until the next great tribal event.  The ring box with Drippy silently released its mysterious vibrations into the bedroom from its perch on the boy’s dresser.  And Bryce and Delgado were snuggled up together with the cat fast asleep in the bed between them, while the deer gently nibbled at the baby beets in the newly sprouting vegetable garden behind the house.