This is not exactly a Let Them Eat Bread report, which chronicles my project of giving away at least one loaf of bread each week in 2011, but this post does involve a loaf of bread that I gave away last night and the events that rippled around it. Each month, my library—Charles M. Bailey Public Library—hosts an author’s night where various Maine writers come to read from their books and to talk about their work. Among others, I have heard Brock Clarke and Gerry Boyle, both of whom are terrific speakers. Last night, Susan Hand Shetterly, a very fine nature writer, was the featured author.

The program was to start at 6:30, and I decided this would be the perfect opportunity to make a loaf of bread for Richard, the library’s director. (I’ve already given a loaf to Shane, and my plan is to give a loaf to all the librarians and the assistants.) So I duly made bread, using part unbleached flour and part whole wheat pastry flour, the latter of which actually comes from Maine. (I’ll soon have to post my revised bread recipe. It really is a good one.)

At 6:15, I walked into the library, and the loaf of bread I carried was still so warm that I had to leave the plastic bag open so moisture wouldn’t accumulate. With warm bread comes a wonderful smell. As I handed the bread to Richard, who took it without hesitation, Mike Sienko, whom I work with at the Food Pantry, said, “You can put me on your bread list.” Perhaps I will.

Mary Sturtevant, another patron who was there for the reading, emerged from the stacks saying, “What a great smell!” I’ve known Mary for many years, and I’m thinking she should be on my bread list, too.

In the periodical room (reading room?) chairs were set up for the speaker. I sat down, and Lorraine Ravis, whom I hadn’t seen for years, sat down beside me. Her daughter Lisa and my daughter Shannon were chums in school, and we spent a pleasant 15 minutes or so catching up on news. Around 6:30, a worried looking Shane came in and announced that Susan Hand Shetterly hadn’t arrived, that he had called her publicist, who was positive Shetterly was planning to come to the reading. Everyone in the audience decided to wait another 15 minutes. I chatted some more with Lorraine, and there was the friendly buzz of conversation as other people talked as well. Richard, who hadn’t had dinner, tore into the warm bread.

At 6:45, Shane made another announcement. Shetterly still hadn’t arrived, and they couldn’t reach her on her cell phone. We all decided to wait until 7:00, just in case. More conversation. But at 7:00, there was still no author, and we all concluded that for some reason, she wasn’t going to come. Shane, in his usual kind way, expressed the hope that Shetterly had just forgot about the reading, that she hadn’t been in some kind of accident. We all nodded.

Then a funny thing happened. Most of us stayed until 7:30 or so, carrying on with our conversations. When we finally got up to leave, Mary Sturtevant said, “Well, Susan Hand Shetterly didn’t show up, but I had a good time anyway.”

I did, too, staying until 8:00 to talk with Shane and Richard. While both were naturally disappointed that Shetterly didn’t make it to the reading, they were tickled that the patrons had had such a good time anyway.

Many of us who came to the reading have lived in Winthrop for years and years and are at least casually acquainted. When residents of a small town have this kind of history with each other, a warm, comfortable familiarity often develops, and this sense of community is what makes living in a small town so worthwhile. Richard and Shane, both young enough to be my sons, have done much to encourage this sense of community, and how lucky we are to have them at the library. (And, yes, having lived in small towns all of my life, I am aware of how grudges and resentments can simmer in small towns. This, too, is part of the mix.)

Warm bread, a drizzly evening, a group of townspeople who know each other, an author who didn’t show up. Just another night in a small town in central Maine, a night that will be fondly remembered.

Addendum: As it turned out, Susan Hand Shetterly has a poor memory and did forget that she was supposed to come to Winthrop. She called Richard this morning to apologize and to assure him that she wants to reschedule. I’ll be there, and I expect most everyone else who came last night will be there as well.

On Sunday, my husband, Clif, the dog, and I went to South Portland to have dinner at Shannon and Mike’s new place in South Portland. It’s been two weeks since Shannon and Mike moved in, and they felt that they were sufficiently unpacked and organized enough to host a small dinner party. Along with inviting us, they invited our friends Bob and Kate, who live in New Hampshire, about an hour away from South Portland.

It didn’t take us long to realize that Shannon and Mike’s new apartment is a halfway point for Bob and Kate and Clif and me to meet. Luckily for us, Shannon and Mike love to cook and have company. Shannon made what is coming to be one of her signature meals, and it is so good that I am thinking it should become one of mine, as well. Shannon served Cornish hens stuffed with lemon and fresh thyme and drizzled with butter, more lemon, and more thyme. What a moist, lovely, fragrant dish! Elegant, even. With it she served a green bean, fennel, and feta cheese salad and roasted red potatoes.

I brought appetizers—a couple of boxes of store-bought crackers and a homemade cream cheese spread with walnuts and a bit of brown sugar. I also brought a spicy yogurt cheese spread purchased from Wholesome Holmstead in Winthrop. And homemade bread.

Kate came with her incredible chocolate cake, one that she made once when we went to their place for a visit and one that I daydream about from time to time. I am not really a cake person. Although I like them well enough, I am much fonder of pies, mousses, and crisps. This cake, though, is at the top of my list of desserts I love. When Kate told me what went into the cake, I understood why: 12 eggs, a pound of butter, chocolate, two cups of sugar, and, most important, only 1 cup of flour. I am a real fan of low flour/no flour chocolate cakes. I love their rich, chocolate intensity.

So we had quite a feast in the new apartment, which is becoming so cozy and comfortable.

Equally good was the conversation. We all just love talking with each other about the usual favorite subjects: books, movies, food, art, politics, and family. The time just sped by. In fact, it sped by so quickly that when Kate asked, “What time is it?” and Bob answered “Twenty past seven,” we were all shocked that it was so late.

As we said our goodbyes, Kate recommended that in the future, we should take turns making the main meal, that it wouldn’t be fair to Shannon to have to provide it for us every single time we get together. A good idea, and Shannon suggested that we do a round Robin, where one person brings dessert, another the appetizer, and the third the main meal. I expect this is exactly what we will do.

While I am still sorry that Shannon and Mike are no longer 20 minutes away, how fun to have them in South Portland, where they are a halfway point for all of us to meet and eat and talk.

Last night, my husband, Clif, and I went to the Red Barn in Augusta to have fish and chips. The prime reason we did this was for “research” for an upcoming piece I am doing for Maine Food & Lifestyle magazine, but we couldn’t quite contain the glee we felt about having this kind of meal in the middle of the week. Generally, fried food is reserved for the weekend, a treat, if you will. However, when one is doing research for a project, one must occasionally break the rules. (I know. It’s a harsh life, one I try to bear bravely.)

As the before and after photos indicate, we ate every last crispy bite of our pint of fish and our order of chips. I thought we had plenty with what we ordered. Clif would have liked a bit more, so we went all out and had ice cream for dessert. Again, all this on a Tuesday!

As I ate the fish and chips, I couldn’t help think about my friend Sybil, who on Monday left for a trip to England. She has a friend who lives in a village in Cornwall, and Sybil will be staying there for 16 days. (Sybil went armed with a little cookbook, so she can help her friend with meals.)  This village has plenty of shops and a train nearby for trips to a larger town that has a cinema and other amenities the village doesn’t have. No car is necessary, and how I envy that friend to be able to live a car-free life.

Before Sybil left, she spoke by phone with her friend, who had recently gone on a ramble with another friend.

“The bluebells are in bloom,” Sybil’s friend said. “I hope they last long enough for you to see them.”

“Never mind!” Sybil exclaimed. “If the bluebells have gone by, there will be cowslips to admire.”

With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder that Sybil has a good time nearly everywhere she goes.

Buebells. Cowslips. Scones. Tea. Steak pie. Fish and chips. Cuckoo birds. Ah, England.

This Mother’s Day, we gathered the dog and headed to South Portland to spend the day with our daughter Shannon, her husband, Mike, and Mike’s mother, Gail. Because Mike and Shannon just moved to SoPo a week ago, their apartment still has plenty of unpacked boxes lining the walls. This meant we had to keep everything simple, which was just fine with all of us.

Our day included sandwiches from a shop down the street. We had hoped to get lobster rolls, but there had been a Mother’s Day rush on these delectable sandwiches, and the beleaguered but good-natured owner, who has only had the place for two years, spoke in a bit of daze as he described how last year on Mother’s Day, all he had sold was wine and beer. It seems his lobster rolls have gained a reputation in the neighborhood. No matter! We’ll get some on another visit. For this year we ordered more pedestrian but still tasty fare—roast beef, pastrami, and steak and cheese.

Despite the disarray of the apartment, Shannon wanted to make something special for Mother Day’s, and she came up with apple tarts made with puff pastry. The tarts consisted of thinly sliced Fuji apples—just the right mixture of tart and sweet—apple preserves, a bit of sugar, and some cinnamon sprinkled over the top. These desserts can be made ahead, popped into the freezer, and then baked for about 40 minutes while guests are talking and eating lunch. Warm, perfectly sweet, and flaky, these apple tarts can’t be beat, and the only thing that makes them better is a bit of vanilla ice cream on the side.

There were even little presents—a silver bracelet for Gail and silver swirl earrings for me. Our eldest daughter, Dee, who lives in New York City, sent me a beautiful heart necklace with a design taken from the Renaissance.

After having dessert, Gail unfortunately had to leave so that she could get some sleep before going to work. The rest of us went for a neighborhood walk, and what a lovely one it was. Flowers and trees were abloom, and birds were singing—I especially loved the song of the red-winged black bird in the marsh we passed.

After our walk, we were ready for pizza from Pizza Magnolia, a shop that uses as much local and organic food as it can. While they have traditional pizzas—cheese, tomato sauce, and herbs—they also have funky ones such as bacon, potato, and cheese sauce. We ordered one of each. The shop also sells gelato, and after those wonderful tarts, we should have resisted. But we didn’t. It was, after all, Mother’s Day.

As many places do, Pizza Magnolia sells T-shirts, and they have one that is on my must-buy list for the next time we stop there. The shirt is very simple—black with white letters that read, “Love Your Food.” A wonderful message, especially in a world where so many people go hungry.

The young woman who waited on us was bright, friendly, and had that sparkle that is so often present in employees who work at places where both the food and the philosophy are good. As she handed me the boxes filled with crisp-crusted pizzas, she smiled and said, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

I smiled back and said, “Thank you so much.”

Coming from this luminous young woman, it felt like a benediction, and I hope readers far and near had a happy Mother’s Day.