I love to cook. I love the country. I dream of picnics in the country. The deep country, where the fields are lush, the wildflowers bloom, the sky pristine blue, the clouds marshmallow puffs that float low in the sky, the barns are made of old wood, cows graze in deep green fields and there is not a building to be seen other than those on your own farm or ranch. So, the words just kind of fall out of my mouth as I sit and talk with two friends, “I’ll fix the food. I have a great menu that…”

There you have it. I’m committed. In for a penny in for a pound—a picnic for fourteen.  And I’m totally excited about fixing the food until I look at my calendar and see I am supposed to be at an all-day event at Becker Vineyards the day before our planned rendezvous.  The day before—my prep day! This is going to take a wee bit of planning. I may even have to get organized.

On Tuesday I drive to the city and shop, deciding three days seems totally sufficient to prep ahead. I do a little each day–shaping and freezing tart shells, baking fresh bread, preparing homemade pepper relish, blanching asparagus, and marinating two legs of lamb. Dina and I text and email plotting the course for tables, linens, cutlery, and dishes. She shares the menu with everyone and appropriate wine recommendations to go with the dishes I plan to make.

The Journey

The food is cooked—except for the lamb—and the car is loaded to the gills as we head west on the two-hour drive to our appointed rendezvous. The country roads are filled with May flowers, tall perky splashes of yellow, orange and red—a trail of joy.

Ever closer to our destination, we pay attention to the GPS as it leads us left into the heart of the hills. Minutes later we are instructed to turn right onto an unpaved, dusty and rocky path. Then our car noses slightly down and we drive through a river—not a low water crossing, but the river!

“We are on the bed of the river,” I say with disbelief.

“It is called a ford,” Michael tells me.

“It’s the river!”

Once through the watery trail, we climb a short hill and begin to curl around the caliche road till we reach The Gate. Feeling like I am a kid again going to my grandmother’s farm, I exit the car and unlatch the black metal structure embellished with silhouettes of wild boar and other country creatures.

The Place

We drive a wee bit further into the heart of the ranch till we spy the rustic house and see Dina and Michael, their arms full, making their way to the picnic area they prepared for our feast. I jump out of the car, give Dina a hug and walk through this bucolic wonderland. I am Alice invited to the Mad Hatter’s tea party in the most magic of places. Vintage outdoor tables laden with flowers and draped with white cloths are scattered under the leafy arms of a giant Texas Live Oak that is so big it feels like a grove of trees shelter the area—not just one. It is perfection.

We unload the car, moving the makeshift buffet table to a shady spot. Suddenly my Michael and Dina’s Michael are both gone—off on an adventure, exploring the ranch. We decide to have a glass of wine and tour the house.

Soon Sandy and Ken arrive, then Becky and another Michael (too many Michaels I think), Jennifer and Joe, Karen and John, Gary and Sherry.  Becky brings a specialty drink for the girls. After we pose for a picture Michael relieves me of my wine. There are more ranch tours, more house tours, more wine poured, lively chatter and happy laughter.

The Food

I recruit a friend as sous chef to help with plating the first course. An eighth of a 12″ tart (I made two!) filled with the flavors of sunshine—a Mediterranean waltz of intense tomato, salty olives, nutty Gruyere and creamy melted onions. One of my favorite picnic foods, I truly love it.  I just hope everyone else does too.

Finished with the first course, the friendly conversation continues to swirl around us. Michael carries the marinated lamb to the barbeque and begins his part in our country repast. When he signals it is grilled to perfection I place the star of the picnic on a giant cutting board, cover it with foil and let it rest. The wine flows.

I slice the two loaves of freshly baked bread, plate the asparagus and dump the bulgur salad into a decorative bowl. I ice the orange aioli and place a spoon in the hot red pepper relish. After slicing the lamb, I call everyone to the buffet table, and the feast begins. There are appreciative murmurs all around. Sandy tells me she loves the explosion of flavors (I did try). Dina likes the smoky flavor of the grilled asparagus. The grilled lamb is great, with levels of doneness to please everyone. I’m surprised when one of the guys comes over and asks how the bulgur salad was prepared. It’s delicious and it’s healthy! Unbelievably the entire meal is pretty healthy, sans the aioli.

Endings

Finally, all the females in our group gather around a single table and discuss important things. The men in our tribe gather around another table and do just the opposite—I am sure. I hear the word Italy and then the question, “Is Cinque Terra a place or something to eat?” His Italian education begins—by lots of people.

As the afternoon touches on early evening, Sandy cuts generous slices of her Caribbean rum cake, presenting them to each of us with two giant red ripe strawberries. It is ethereal. Light. Delicate. Sweet. Luscious.

When the clock says it is well past six o’clock we push ourselves away from the table and begin the process of packing up. We all groan at the thought of leaving this place and having the afternoon end. But home is two hours down the road.  As we depart Joe tells Jennifer, “Well, that was an incredible nine-hour lunch!”

Friends picnicking under the protective shade of a giant oak on a perfect spring day in the Texas Hills. What can be better?

For the complete menu and recipes, click on this LINK for Picnic Menu and Recipes.