When half of the town is out of power, when trees have landed on sidewalks, when another storm threatens the evening, it only makes sense to throw a cook-in:
1. Gather ribs, burgers, hot dogs from the fridge and freezer. They will go bad, you cannot eat them all, and so, a text chain is born.
2. Hurricane Meatfest 2015. Sweat pants only. Can you bring dessert? How’s 6?
3. Because it is storming, because the kids are antsy, because the power isn’t expected to come on until Tuesday, everyone says yes. Yes, yes, yes, we will be there. See you in an hour.
4. Someone whips up a cajun ranch slaw with fridge fixins, and there is grocery store cake and chardonnay, and nothing about the menu makes sense except that the kitchen is filled with love and community, the impromptu kind. It is perfectly imperfect.
5. Eventually, the food runs out. The skies look clear. We leave full, and happy, and with all the power we need.