At one time, I owned a bistro and catering business in Milford, Connecticut called La Petite Gourmet.
Business as usual I received an order to cater a Sweet 16 party for 15 teenagers. I planned a simple menu of lasagna, chicken cacciatore, pizza, and a celebration cake. It was Saturday and so I prepared the entire order a day in advance.
Running a business as well as being a mom and a soon-to-be divorced wife had virtually obliterated any free time for amusement or recreation. The shop proved to be very successful, however, my days were occupied with making pastas, sauces, hors d’oeuvres, Italian breads and fulfilling hundreds of catered orders. When my day ended and totally exhausted after an 18-hour day of cooking, I’d go home and then be a mother to my then 8-year-old twin boys. Side Note: My husband had stated when I opened the shop it was my business, and he was to have no part in it including lending a hand.
The night before the scheduled party on Sunday, I closed the shop around 12:30 a.m. I then transferred the food into foil serving trays and loaded them into my 1965 Chrysler station wagon. My plan was to bring them home and store them in my deep freezer. The next day I would make my way out to the party another 20-mile trip.
While driving home, huge beams of light crossed the sky catching my attention. I followed it and discovered it was announcing the grand opening of a new discotheque called The Snow Chicken. Remember: This was the 70s and disco was alive and well.
It was late, almost 1:00 a.m. My kids were asleep at home with my husband and although exhausted from the long day of cooking, I convinced myself that I needed some recreation, even if it was just for an hour. When I arrived, I parked and walked into the club. In the lobby, I was greeted by a gargantuan 8’ foot, white chicken garishly dressed in gobs of makeup, jewelry, and feather boas. The loud music drew me into the flickering and neon lit dance floor full of people dancing to the thumping and deafening beat. Eager to get out onto the floor, I boogied my way in and soon was twirling around with some strange guy.
Soon after, the sound of Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” was playing, the lights were starting to dim as it was closing time; 2:00 a.m. Feeling rejuvenated for the small reward and respite I had given myself, I made my way alone out to the parking lot.
As I opened the car door, sliding into the front seat I sighed a deep breath and anticipated the long day still ahead and the Sweet 16 party at hand. It was then I noticed that my glove box was opened, and the contents were spread out onto the front seat. Confused, I stared at the items for a quick second - then a fear came over me. OMG! Someone had been in my car! Then in another quick second, I jerked my head around to investigate the cargo area. My eyes bulged with horror. You guessed it! A FOOD THIEF HAD STOLEN ALL MY TRAYS!
Upon the shock of it all, I cursed the perpetrator whomever he was, then the panic set in. The party was in 12 hours! On my way back home my mind was racing, filled with rage and questions; so rattled I couldn't think straight. “What to do?…what to do? “
Sleep was impossible that night as I stared at the clock - time slowly creeping by till daylight. I informed my husband of my dilemma but as was his answer in all things whenever there was a problem was “What are you going to do?”
When 7:00 AM came, I dashed out of the house and drove frantically to the closest supermarket hoping they would open early. No luck! There I was my hands and face pressed against the glass anxiously waiting for them to open their doors. Surely, they could see I was in a panic. Even trying to catch the eye of the occasional employee walking around inside was fruitless. My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure they could hear it.
Once inside, I grabbed a cart and rudely pushed by the other workers and shoppers, scurrying up and down the unfamiliar aisles looking for the Italian section. I grabbed jars of spaghetti sauce, snatched boxes of lasagna off the shelves, bottles of grated cheese, a frozen pizza, etc. I was feeling the fear welling up inside me.
“Where’s the produce? I need onions, peppers, tomatoes”
When I reached the meat section, I grabbed packages of chicken completely indifferent to the prices. Next stop, the bakery department for breads, ciabatta, focaccia…anything! “Cake! I need a cake!” Only a few available I implored the clerk to inscribe Sweet 16 while I waited. Time was creeping upon me, and I still had to return to my shop to prepare the various dishes. My heart had now reached my throat, my mouth dry wondering if I could drive the 20 miles to make it to the party on time.
At checkout I quickly examined my purchases tossing everything into my car. I then rushed back to my shop ogling my watch every minute. Feeling panic stricken for I only had a few hours left, I forced myself to get into a full blast mode. Hurriedly, I began to cook, roast, fry, boil, tossing everything together not stopping to taste or adjust any seasoning; just concerned with the time. This was Sunday - my husband was home watching football along with our 8-year-old twins, I was at least at peace about that. This was my bag and although all alone in this, I threw it into high gear.
With just an hour left to get to the party, my heart raced faster. “Could I make it?”, I thought I loaded up that old station wagon with the new trays of food, praying all the while. I grunted and struggled lifting the heavy milk crates of dishes, glasses, flatware, pots and pans, condiments, tablecloths, etc., trying to remember if I had everything.
I gunned that old engine beseeching God that the directions I had were correct. (It was BC - Before Cell phones or GPS.)
Prologue: I arrived in time although my clothes were drenched in sweat. But they never noticed. I catered the party without a glitch - none the wiser for what had transpired. The host as well as the 15 teenagers gobbled up every bite never stopping long enough to know what they were eating. Although there was no profit that day, the important thing was I rose to the task and with the help of my Lord God. That night in bed I couldn’t help recalling that famous song by Gloria Gaynor….” I Will Survive”.
Prologue: Prayer has been a part of my Christian life not only in times of anxiety or fear but also when I feel grateful for the Blessings I’ve received. There’s always something to learn even during stressful times. It’s just a test of our character, faith and trust that Jesus is faithful to his Word. He is my friend and my Savior.
