I have been reminiscing lately about the many people who have shared meals around our table and the conversations that naturally unfold when food is prepared with love and attention to detail.

One story in particular has been waiting patiently to be told.

It began with a telephone call.

“Hi!” came Sarah’s familiar voice. Sarah was one of the daughters of close family friends. Joy and I had watched her grow up and had taught her in both elementary and secondary school.

“Are you and Joy going to be home this evening? I have some exciting news to share.”

“We’ll be here,” I replied. “Come on over.”

A short while later there was a knock at the door.

In bounced Sarah, just as bubbly as ever.

After hugs all around, we settled into the living room.

“I’ve finally met HIM!” she announced with unmistakable excitement. “The man of my dreams! He’s coming to Marathon to meet my parents, and I want to take him somewhere really special for dinner. I was hoping you and Joy could help me decide on the best restaurant.”

Joy and I exchanged a quick glance.

Then, with a grin, I answered,

“Chez Bott.”

For just a moment Sarah looked puzzled.

Then the meaning dawned on her.

“You mean… we could come here for dinner?”

“Of course,” I replied. “In fact, why don’t I prepare three different menus for you to choose from? French, Greek, or Italian. You pick the one you like best, and Joy and I will create a memorable dinner for two.”

The plan was settled.

During the following week I prepared the menus while Sarah devised a clever strategy for introducing us to HIM. They would go for a walk before dinner and simply happen to stop by our house.

To my delight she chose the Italian menu.

News of the plan somehow spread among family and close friends.

Before long I received another phone call, this one from a local physician who was a mutual friend of both families.

“I understand you’re putting on a special dinner,” she said. “Keep careful track of every expense and send me the bill.”

Apparently this had become a community project.

It reminded me of the old saying that it takes a village to raise a child.

Perhaps it also takes a village to celebrate young love.

On the appointed day Joy and I spent the afternoon transforming our dining room.

The table was set with care.

Music was selected.

Space was cleared for dancing.

The wines were chilled to exactly the right temperature.

Joy dressed entirely in black, assuming the role of server.

I put on my chef’s whites.

Everything was ready.

At precisely the appointed hour there came a knock at the door.

Through the window I could see Sarah, glowing with anticipation, standing beside HIM.

The door opened.

She hurried in, hugged us both, and announced,

“George and Joy, this is HIM!”

Joy handed Sarah a small bouquet of flowers before escorting the couple to their table.

Once they were seated, she explained the evening.

“This is your private dinner for two. There is no schedule and no time limit. Take as long as you wish. When you are ready for the next course, simply let us know.”

The evening began with bruschetta.

A fresh tossed salad followed.

For the main course each guest designed a personalized pasta dish that I prepared at the table according to their own tastes.

Dessert consisted of crisp pizzelle cones filled with whipped cream and fresh fruit.

Each course was accompanied by a carefully selected wine and a story explaining why we thought it would pair well with the food.

Much of the meal was assembled in front of them, giving us opportunities to chat and slowly become acquainted with HIM while still allowing the evening to remain theirs.

Between courses Joy and I quietly disappeared into the background, watching discreetly until the timing felt right to refill a glass, clear a plate, or prepare the next surprise.

Time slipped away unnoticed.

What began as dinner at seven o’clock did not end until well after midnight.

In the days that followed we heard from Sarah, from her parents, from our physician friend, and from others who had heard about the evening.

Everyone seemed delighted by the story.

Looking back now, I realize that Sarah never did ask us to cook a special meal.

She simply wanted a recommendation for a restaurant.

But sometimes the best restaurant in town isn’t listed in any guidebook.

Sometimes it is simply a home where two people delight in setting one more place at the table and helping create a memory that will last a lifetime.