Category Archives: Food and Dining

Traveler v. Tourist

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When I go on vacation to a new destination, I like to think of myself as a traveler, rather than a tourist. Although I do enjoy sighteeing, I also love exploring the culture and daily life of the people who live in the country I am visiting. Shortly after my now husband and I decided to get married, we took an “engagementmoon” to St. Lucia to celebrate. We stayed at a wonderful all-inclusive resort and had a marvelous, relaxing time. However, I do wish we had ventured outside of the resort a bit more. The locals who worked at the resort were so warm and friendly, I would have appreciated learning more about their culture and island life. In the photo essay inspired by these vacation pictures, my character, Violet Goodwine, discovers the unique qualities of life on St. Lucia at Hotel Chocolat, and the Gros Islet Street Party.

On Friday morning, Violet Goodwine, strolled by the lagoon shaped pool on her way to the main lobby of the resort. A group of hotel guests stood in the low end following the instructions of the water aerobics teacher. About half of the lounge chairs circling the pool were already occupied. It was another sunny day in St. Lucia.

Violet had spent the first couple of days of her vacation relaxing by the pool, drinking colorful cocktails and walking on the beach. The resort was a beautiful, luxurious retreat, but after two days, Violet was ready to venture out and explore more of the island.

Strolling into the lobby, she pulled a stack of postcards from her hand-woven straw bag. She gave the postcards to the concierge, and asked him about day trips around the island. While they were talking, someone tapped Violet on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a vaguely familiar woman said in an Australian accent. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re looking for an excursion today, isn’t that right?”

“Right,” said Violet, smiling uncertainly at the petite, auburn haired woman who was dressed in cargo shorts, a bright blue polo shirt and sneakers.

The woman returned her smile and said warmly, “I’m Kaleigh. This is my third trip to St. Lucia. I love this island. It’s known as island of iguanas, you know.”

Violet laughed, thinking of the iguana she had spotted down by the tiki bar. “I’m Violet, she said holding out her hand for Kaleigh to shake. “I’ve seen you around the resort. You’re a solo traveler like me, aren’t you?”

“You’re right about that. Don’t you just love traveling on your own?” Kaleigh asked with a twinkle in her green eyes. “I certainly do, but sometimes it’s nice when you find someone to join in on your adventures. Do you like chocolate? I’m heading out to tour a cacao farm now. Care to come along?”

“The Hotel Chocolat? I’ve read about that place.” Violet was intrigued.

Kaleigh nodded and gestured to the door. “Come on, I have a taxi waiting. Let’s go sample a bit of St. Lucia life.”

Violet glanced over her shoulder at the concierge, who was now chatting with one of the desk clerks. Swept up in Kaleigh’s infectious enthusiasm, she said, “Why not? Let’s go”

The new friends took a taxi through the capital city of Castries and down the coast to the 140-acre estate. Along the way, their jovial driver pointed out the sights and told them a little bit about the Carib culture and history.

At Hotel Chocolat, they joined a small group of other visitors to tour the farm, learning all about their sustainable practices of growing cacao beans and making chocolate. The grounds were lush and green and the chocolate samples were rich and creamy. Violet and Kaleigh were excited to end the tour by making their own chocolate bar and then sitting down for an authentic St. Lucian lunch.

Sitting by the window with a view of the rain forest, they each ordered cacao beer-battered fish and chips. While they ate fresh and crispy fish, they chatted easily, talking about their chocolate experience and sharing travel stories.

“That was such a great tour,” Kaleigh said. “Who knew that chocolate grows on trees? And I loved making my own chocolate bar! I can’t wait to try it.”

“Me too.” Violet laughed. She took a couple of bites of fish and then said, “This place reminds me of a tour I took in Costa Rica to a rain forest ranch, where they were just starting out their cacao business. Thank you so much for inviting me along today. I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse of the real St. Lucia.”

Kaleigh took a sip of wine. “No worries. I’m glad you came with me.” She wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin and went on, “If you want to see the real St. Lucia, we should go to the Gros Islet street party this evening. I went to it last year and it was awesome. They block off the streets on Friday nights in a fishing village not too far from our resort, and there’s food and drinks and music. What do you think?”

“That sounds terrific,” Violet said. “Tomorrow, there’s a cricket tournament at the national stadium. Would you want to check that out? Cricket is really popular here, apparently, and I’ve never seen a cricket game. It might be fun.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kayleigh said. She raised her glass in a toast and the two travlers clinked glasses, looking forward to experiencing true island life.

Amelia and Jane

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Amelia Reed, 10 years old, could not believe she was in Bath, England.  Her favorite author, Jane Austen, once lived here.  Jane must have walked through the Abbey Churchyard passing by the very spot where Amelia now stood beside her aunt, Joy.  All around them, people strolled across the square.  A couple of dogs chased each other in circles barking happily. A cello player performed in front of a bakery, filling the square with music.

Thanks to her fourth grade teacher, Ms. Crocker, Amelia had discovered Jane Austen that spring.  On the bookshelves in her classroom, Ms. Crocker had a set of Great Illustrated Classics, including Pride and Prejudice, Jane’s most famous novel, which Amelia borrowed for their drop everything and read periods.  As she read about Elizabeth and the other Bennett sisters, she quickly decided that Jane would be her new favorite author, edging aside L.M. Montgomery,

Amelia brushed her blonde bangs out of her face as she and Joy peered up at the entrance to the abbey, shading their eyes from the summer sun.  Amelia carefully counted the stone angels climbing the ladders on either side of the grand doorway.  Twelve.  She wondered what Jane would have thought of those angels.

“I’m so glad, Mom and I came to visit you in London,” Amelia said, slipping her hand into her aunt’s. “And thank you so much for taking me here where Jane Austen lived.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m happy you’re here.  It’s too bad your mom had to go to her conference this morning.  I think she would love Bath.” Joy took Amelia’s other hand and spun her around.  Joy’s silver bangle bracelets tinkled merrily on her wrist and the skirt of Amelia’s lavender sundress swirled around her knees.

“Guess where we’re going next?” Joy asked and went on before Amelia could answer, “The Jane Austen Centre.  It’s a whole museum about Jane and it has an elegant tea room at the top.”

“Are we going to have tea?” Amelia gave a little skip.

Joy nodded, skipping alongside her niece, her thong sandals slapping cheerfully against her heels.

“And scones?”

“Of course.  Let’s go.”

An hour later, Amelia and Joy sat at a table by the sunlit window in the Regency Tea Room.  Amelia had a cup of peppermint tea and Joy had a citrus tea called Empress of Peking.  They shared a three-tiered plate of sandwiches and scones.

Amelia sliced her scone in half and slathered it with raspberry jam followed by clotted cream.  “This museum is excellent,” she said before taking a bite of her scone.  

“What did you like the best?”

Amelia finished her scone and licked jam and cream from her fingers.  “Dressing up in the Regency clothes and writing with the quill pen.  It was much easier than I thought it would be!”

“I liked learning all about Jane’s life,” Joy said.

Amelia nodded in agreement.  “Me too.  That picture of Jane that her sister drew is awesome.”

Joy laughed and gestured toward their empty plates.  “I’d love to end our tea with a sweet treat, but I’m pretty full.  I’ll bet you are too, right?”

Wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin, Amelia nodded again and gave a contented sigh.

“What do you think about this idea?  We can pop into that Cornish Bakery we saw near the church and get a treat to eat on the train back to London.  They had some pretty yummy looking things in the window.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I have an even greater one,” Joy said with a grin, her hazel eyes twinkling.  “I think we should come back here next weekend and bring your Mom with us.”

“Okay,” Ameila agreed.  “Mom likes Jane Austen almost as much as I do, you know.”

Home Away From Home

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There are so many lovely places to visit in the world. My husband and I love traveling to Europe. Edinburgh in Scotland is our most loved city. In the past few years, we have also discovered some great North American destinations. While on vacation, we often enjoy popping into iconic hotels for lunch or a drink, which is a wonderful way to experience the property. Some of the outstanding hotels we have explored include the Algonquin in St. Andrew’s by-the-Sea, NB, the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, and Dalvay by the Sea on Prince Edward Island. The pictures that have inspired this photo essay are from Dalvay by the Sea, which was built as a summer home in 1895 by Alexander MacDonald, a Scottish-American businessman. The hotel offers 25 guest rooms and 8 cottages, and is known for its European charm and excellent service. Please enjoy a brief visit to this luxurious home away from home through my words and photos.

After an invigorating and scenic bike ride around the north shore of Prince Edward Island, Cecelia Hart mounted the front stairs of Dalvay by the Sea, her home away from home on this autumn getaway. Feeling a bit wind-blown and quite hungry, she headed to the cozy bar off the lobby. She pulled off her hand-knit hat letting her wavy chestnut hair fall around her shoulders and unbuttoned her LL Bean barn coat.

The bartender greeted her by name. “What can I get you this afternoon?” she asked.

“I’d love a cup of hot coffee. Hazelnut if you have it. And how about the charcuterie board, please?”

“Very good.”

“Would it be alright if I sat in there by the fireplace?” Cecelia asked, waving toward the spacious, sunlit living room furnished with friendly groupings of plush armchairs and couches.

“Of course. Make yourself at home,” the bartender said with a smile.

Once she settled herself in one of the wingback chairs in front of the crackling fire, Cecelia didn’t have to wait long for the bartender to deliver a steaming cup of fragrant coffee and a plate of artfully arranged cured meats and cheeses accompanied by bread and crackers.

As she thanked the bartender, another guest wandered into the room and stood in front of the stone fireplace, warming her hands. Cecelia took a swallow of her coffee and watched the other woman with friendly curiosity. She was thin and wiry with a cap of silvery bobbed hair. She looked like she spent her free time on the tennis court.

“Hello, there” Cecelia said.

The woman turned, her blue eyes lighting up as she returned Cecelia’s greeting. “Do you mind if I sit here by the fire too?” she asked.

“I’d be glad for the company,” Cecelia said, introducing herself. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Alicia Peabody.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the bar and said, “Let me just order a drink. I’ll be right back.”

While she waited, Cecelia pulled her knitting from the depths of her Italian leather backpack. She was making a sweater for her 3-year-old granddaughter. When Alicia returned carrying a tall coupe of sparkling wine, Cecelia set aside her knitting. She nodded toward the matching armchair beside her own. “Please join me.” She gestured to her overflowing plate. “If you’re hungry, feel free to help me with this amazing charcuterie plate.” 

“How kind. That does look tempting.” Alicia reached for a wheat cracker and a slice of Havarti cheese.

The two women chatted amicably and discovered that they shared a love for writing. Alicia recently had a book of poetry published.

“That’s wonderful!” Cecelia exclaimed. “I wish I could write poetry.”

“What do you like to write?” 

“I’ve written too many book reviews to count, and quite a few articles for a librarian’s professional journal. Now that I’m retired, I want to try my hand at fiction. Maybe a historical novel.”

“Marvelous! As a librarian I’m sure whatever you turn out will be impeccably researched. Any ideas what you would focus on?”

“I want to find out more about PEI, actually. I adore L. M. Montgomery, but I’m sure there is more to this lovely island than just Anne of Green Gables. I’d love to find a forgotten story from the past.”

“This hotel has quite a fascinating history. The concierge told me it originally was built as a summer home for a wealthy family from Ohio and the granddaughters ended up marrying into European royalty. Can you imagine what it must have been like in its heyday?” Alicia gestured enthusiastically encompassing the fireplace, the gleaming woodwork, and the sweeping staircase leading up to the guest rooms.

Cecelia nodded thoughtfully. “Imagine the stories that have taken place here. I wonder if the hotel has maintained any historical archives . . .”

She raised her coffee cup to Alicia. “Thanks to your intriguing idea, I have a feeling I may be coming back to the Dalvay before long.”

Montreal

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Montreal is a destination that offers plenty of culture, delicious food and eye-catching landmarks. My husband and I took a summer trip to this cosmopolitan city in 2015. We stayed in the historic neighborhood, Old Montreal. During our week-long sojourn, we made every effort to see as many sights as possible. Some highlights of our trip included visiting Notre-Dame Basilica, Place Jacques Cartier, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the botanical gardens, as well as two scrumptious meals at a charming restaurant called Jardin Nelson.

After nearly ten years, I still have fond memories of our trip to Montreal. Perhaps, it is time for a return visit. In the meantime, the photo essay below is inspired by the pictures I took in 2015.

“What a wonderful meal in such a lovely setting,” Camille remarked, gazing around the flower-filled terrace and taking a final sip of her crisp white Bordeaux.  She clinked glasses with  her niece, Florette.  

They had just enjoyed a filling lunch of seafood crêpes at Jardin Nelson, a popular establishment in the heart of Montreal’s historic district.  Across the sunlit cobbled square  a cello player serenaded the passing tourists  with a soulful version of  Leonard Cohen’s  “Hallelujah.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” said Florette.  She folded her cloth napkin and set it beside her plate.  “I’m happy you’ve come to visit too.  I wish I didn’t have to go to classes, so I could show you more of my favorite things in Montreal.”

“Don’t be silly.  I don’t mind exploring the city on my own.  This morning, I visited the basilica where Celine Dion was married.  All of that glowing stained glass took my breath away.”  She put her folded arms on the table and leaned forward.  “Besides, school comes first.”

Florette nodded.  “I know.  That’s what my mom would say too.”

 They shared a laugh.  “Tell me more about your classes at the art school,” Camille said.

Florette sighed and spread her arms in delight. “The Ecole des Beaux Arts is fabulous!  My favorite class is my still life drawing class.  The professor is so talented and inspiring. Last week she said my drawing of a bowl of oranges was nearly perfect.”

As they paid the check and gathered their belongings, Florette chatted on about her other art courses.  In front of the restaurant entrance, she posed so Camille could take a photo.  Glancing at the time on her cell phone, she said, “My next class isn’t until 4:00.  Do you want to come with me to the botanical gardens?  I have to do some sketches and you could take more photos.”

“What a marvelous idea,” said Camille.  They linked arms and made their way down the street looking for a taxi.

Montreal’s botanical gardens were nestled in the city’s Olympic District.  Florette pointed out the Olympic stadium as they rumbled by in their cab.  At the entrance to the park, they hopped out of the car and strolled through the gates.

Florette pulled up a map of the gardens on her phone. “Let’s head over to the alpine garden. I love the flowers there and the rocky landscapes.  All of the flowers are so tiny and sweet.  I’m going to sketch the phlox and the rock roses.”

“Sounds good to me.  I have to warn you though.  I may burst out into an off-key version of Edelweiss.” Camille joked.

“Remember how I made you watch my Sound of Music video every time you came over when I was little?”  Florette said with a giggle.

“It was your favorite.  Mine too.”  Camille said, swinging her arms and glancing up at the brilliant sunlit sky.  After a moment she went on, “When I visited Austria, I went to Leopoldskron Palace, where they filmed some scenes from the movie. The gardens there are stunning.”

“I’m sure.” Florette couldn’t keep a hint of envy from her voice.  “I’d love to go to Austria, or anywhere in Europe.” She gazed admiringly at her aunt.  

“You’ll have your chance to travel,” Camille assured her. “You’re just twenty-one. There’s plenty of time!” 

As they followed the brick paved pathways, Camille read the signs pointing out the locations of  the different gardens.  “Japanese garden, Chinese garden, alpine garden,” she said.  “It looks like you can travel around the horticultural world in one day here.”

“Did you know there are more than 20,000 types of plants here from all over the planet,” Florette said.

“Amazing!”

They fell into a comfortable silence, walking past the rose garden and the aquatic garden. As they approached the Chinese garden, the carved roof of the pagoda appeared in the distance.  The splash of a waterfall or fountain filled the air along with cheerful birdsong.

Florette said, “When I finish my sketching, we should check out the Chinese garden. The pond in front of the pagoda is filled with lily pads and there’s a gorgeous willow tree.  You’ll get some excellent photos.”

“Speaking of lily pads, I’d like to look at the aquatic garden too, if we have time.”

“Sure.  Of course”

“One of the best gardens I’ve ever been to is Monet’s garden in Giverny.  I was there in April, so the famous water lilies weren’t in bloom, but there were so many other lovely and unusual flowers it didn’t matter,” she said, following her niece into the enchanting alpine garden.

“One of these days, I’ll have to make a summer trip to Giverny.  The water lilies come out in July usually,” Camille went on.

Florette opened her sketchbook and found a shady spot beside a rockery carpeted with a bed of fragrant lavender, pink and white phlox.  She let out a wistful sigh and said, “I want to be a world traveler like you.”

“You know,” Camille said thoughtfully, “next summer after you graduate would be the perfect time for a trip to France . . . we can go to Giverny together to celebrate.  And we can ask your Mom to come along too. ” She beamed at her niece. “A girls’ trip to Europe will be a grand way to kick off your quest to see the world!”

A Moment in Time

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Visiting historic homes is one of my favorite pastimes, when I travel, or when I’m in the mood for a quick day trip from home. Newport, Rhode Island, where wealthy families once built elaborate “summer cottages” during the Gilded Age is a marvelous place to step into the past.

Last summer, a like-minded friend and I took a road trip to Newport. We toured two of the famous mansions, the Breakers and the Elms. One of the rooms I always find fascinating is the kitchen. I enjoy looking at the old-fashioned appliances and equipment used to whip up delicious meals and confections. On our summer visit, we were able to take part in the Servant’s Life tour at the Elms, after traipsing through the ornate rooms upstairs. These photographs have inspired the story below. Happy reading!

Shifting from foot to foot as she stood behind her broad, wooden baker’s bench, Poppy delicately placed a ring of fondant forget-me-nots on the top of the three-tier cake.

Already, the day felt endless. She had risen before sunrise to put the finishing touches on the wedding cake and to get the three additional desserts Mrs. Crocker insisted on adding to the menu into the oven. Time was short. At noon, the daughter of the house was to be wed.

“Ooh! That looks too lovely to eat,” a flutey voice called out from the doorway. “Hello, Poppy!”

The chef looked up and smiled warmly at the bride-to-be. She was dressed in a camel hair wrap coat with a wide fur collar and sturdy walking boots. “Good morning, Miss Rose. My goodness, you’re up early. Are you going out?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” the girl explained. “I was on my way to walk on the beach, but the scent of your baking led me on this detour. What smells so heavenly?”

“Ooh, the tartes tatins!” Poppy exclaimed whirling around to don oven mitts and swiftly pull the French apple tarts from the oven. She let out a sigh of relief as she placed three trays of golden brown pastries on her bench to cool.

Rose drew closer to breathe in the apple-cinnamon aroma, letting her coat slip from her shoulders. She lifted a floury sheet of paper from the table top. It was a hand-written recipe for madeleine cakes.

“That’s the last item on the menu I have to prepare,” Poppy explained, hurrying around to pick up Rose’s coat and drape it over the back of a black bentwood rocker by the stove. “They’re your grandmother’s favorite.”

Rose nodded and smiled in thanks and observed, “Yes, Granny has always been obsessed with Marcel Proust and his madeleines. The summer I turned ten she insisted on reading the first volume of A La Recherche du Temps Perdu to me.”

She handed the recipe to Poppy and went on, “Mrs. Crocker would make a batch of these cakes every morning. This is her recipe, isn’t it? One morning, she showed me how they were made and even let me help her with the baking.” A wistful smile lit up Rose’s face. “Those madeleines tasted extra nice at tea time. Granny even commented on how good they were.”

“What a lovely memory,” Poppy said, gathering the ingredients to mix the batter for the tea cakes. “Mr. Proust would surely approve.”

“Have you read A La Recherche?” Rose asked with an admiring glance.

“Only in English,” said Poppy, “but the translation is quite good, I think.”

Rose reached for her coat, saying, “Well, I suppose I should let you get on . . .”

At the same time, Poppy said, “Would you like to help . . .”

They each stopped mid-sentence and shared a laugh.

“I don’t mean to presume,” Poppy said hurriedly. “It’s just that I think baking can be a calming pastime and I wondered if it might settle any wedding jitters.”

Rose tilted her head, considering this idea. “I do feel a bit jittery. I suppose that’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

Poppy clasped her hands in front of her, waiting.

With a decisive nod, Rose rolled up her sleeves. “I would love to help. Why shouldn’t I?”

As they got to work, Rose and Poppy continued to chat, casting aside the rules and strictures imposed by society and savoring the warmth and companionship of the moment — a moment they would each look back upon with fond nostalgia.

Saints, Stained Glass and the Sé

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Thrilled to be traveling in Europe again, my husband and I thoroughly enjoyed a trip to Lisbon in April. What a warm and friendly city! Everyone we met from the hotel staff and restaurant servers to taxi drivers and local shopkeepers made us feel welcome. Our hotel, Memmo Alfama, was located in the medieval district of the city, just steps away from the national cathedral (the Sé).

The cathedral is officially called Igreja de Santa Maria Maior de Lisboa. It is the bishop’s seat or Sedes Episcopalis. Construction began in 1147 on the ruins of a Moorish mosque. Part of the site today is an archaeological excavation of the mosque.

While exploring the historic place of worship, the brilliant rose window caught my eye. The Romanesque window, which depicts the twelve apostles encircling Jesus, bedazzles the stone floor of the choir loft with jewel colored sequins of light. My vacation photos of the cathedral inspired the following photo essay.

Climbing the stairs to the choir loft, Anabela drew in a deep breath, trying to quiet the insistent thoughts whirling through her mind. She had so much to get done by Sunday, just two days away. For the first time, she would be hosting her family’s Festa de Santo Antonio celebration. Everyone would come back to her house after marching in the parade down the Avenida da Liberdade.

At the top of the stairs, Anabela glanced up at the gleaming rose window. Jesus and his twelve apostles depicted in the stained glass had an overarching view of the shadowy nave down below. Last summer, she had married Silverio in this church on a hot July morning. Anabela had walked up the aisle, escorted by her proud papa, while her cousin, Mariela, who was the choir organist, played the processional. Mariela was now teaching Anabela to play the organ and had insisted that she was ready to play at Mass on Sunday.

Taking a seat at the organ and closing her eyes, Anabela allowed herself a moment to daydream about her wedding day. She remembered the flowers, hydrangeas and lavender decorating the altar. She recalled the smiles and waves from her friends and relatives who filled the pews. But most of all, she thought of Silverio standing calmly at the front of the church, waiting.

Speaking of Silverio, she couldn’t keep him waiting today. She was supposed to meet him at Mercado da Baixa as soon as she finished her organ practice. They were going to buy the food for the festa. Sardines (of course), fresh kale for the caldo verde, fruit and vinho tinto for pitchers of sangria, and loaves of bread and pasteis de nata from their favorite bakery. Anabela had a shopping list tucked safely away in her purse.

Hurriedly, she opened her folder of music. She spread out the pages, placed her hands on the organ keys, and began to play. As the chords and melody of her favorite hymn filled the church, outside the sun broke through a layer of clouds and streamed through the rose window. Swirls of kaleidoscopic color danced across the floor of the choir loft, seemingly in time with the music. Anabela watched the sequins of light and played on.

She felt as though Santo Antonio had sent her a sign. Sunday would be a beautiful day.

Words and Photos: A Dream Come True

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Many years ago, I traveled by train from Los Angeles to San Diego to visit my aunt and uncle.  When I arrived, I wanted to see Balboa Park and spent a delightful afternoon wandering around its Spanish Village Arts Center .    One of the picturesque galleries caught my eye, and the photograph I snapped has inspired this photo essay:

balboapark

Balboa Park, San Diego, CA (photo by L. LeVasseur, 1990)

The small stucco building is draped in flowers and sunshine. Its white walls glow pink in the morning air.  The rooster weathervane glints golden in the delicate light and spins lazily with a faintly musical creak.

Marisa and Joe carry sacks of fresh vegetables across the empty courtyard.  Soon the colorful slate tiles will be covered with umbrellaed tables for guests who prefer to dine beneath the brilliant blue sky.

As Marisa deposits her bags in front of the eclectic lilac door, the inspiration for the name of their new restaurant, Joe fishes the key from his coat pocket.  The door swings open and they stand back to admire the results of all of their planning.

Entering the brightly decorated dining room, she immediately heads for  the kitchen, while he hauls in the bags of produce and then begins to take down the chairs from the sturdy oak tables.  In just a few hours, the hushed tranquility will be replaced with the rush and clamor of their very first lunch hour.  The clatter of silverware, the hum of conversation and the sizzle of the kitchen grills will fill the space, along with the warm and comforting aromas of chilies, cumin and cilantro.

Marisa emerges from the kitchen, her face already smudged with flour.  She has put a batch of churros in the oven.  She and Joe exchange a smile. After years of studying in culinary school and working in other chefs’ kitchens, their dream has finally come true.