The Kindred Spirits Supper Club

Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary. -Oscar Wilde

A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. —Amelia Earhart

Spoon theory was the best way to describe how a day could sap her energy. Everyone started each day with a number of spoons, some people started with more than others. Every activity used up a certain number of spoons, and when they were gone, then the energy was gone for the day.

If Molly were here, she'd tell Sabrina how this was the perfect end to her love story. The villain had been defeated, the couple was together, and there was a party with fancy clothes and good food and plenty of music. But happily ever afters in real life were very different from the movies. The pain and loss and difficulties didn't disappear. With every joy came the reminder that someone wasn't there to share the moment. Real happily ever afters were flavored with bitter and sweet. With Ray by her side, Sabrina wanted to taste it all.

There isn't a menu, only a few daily specials. You might get some molecular gastronomy or classic French food or meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but it's always amazing." "Today they have family-style broasted chicken. The best in the state," Doug said. "Broasted?" "Fried, but under pressure. I don't really know what magic happens, but its extra juicy and crunchy.

For the Otter Club, he and Rick had decided that the hot pepper summer sausage was too risky, but the aged cheddar, soft goat cheese, Wisconsin honey, and garlic summer sausage were easy choices.

Ray picked up a slice of summer sausage and chewed, taking a deep breath when some heat kicked in. "Watch out for that one. It's chili-spiked. Eat some cheese," Rick said. Ray broke off a hunk of crumbling aged cheddar that had come from a nearby dairy. When he bit into it, tiny crystals popped on his tongue. "Five years?" he guessed. "Six." "It's good." The cheese coated his tongue and eased the worst of the heat.

Getting to know Sabrina reminded him of the first time he had tasted truffles. With their robust and pungent flavor, truffles were an acquired taste, but with each new truffle experience, the more interesting they became, the more he discovered the nuanced and earthy notes. The truffle had always been perfect; it had been his taste buds that had to evolve. Sabrina was like that- he knew time would unveil fascinating and complex depths that most people never appreciated. He couldn't wait.

At the top of the stairs, Molly waited, wearing a flowing ankle-length sleeveless teal gown, the type Ginger Rogers would wear while being twirled around a ballroom.

Mavis is getting married. To a sweaty old investment banker. I'm pretty sure he has a heart condition, and she's making him train for the New York City Marathon with her.

The cheese curd was good, crispy and a little sweet, a nice foil to the salty cheese. She liked the crumb breading better than a batter, making them among the best cheese curds she'd ever tasted.

She sipped her old-fashioned. Sweet and light, with notes of orange and the herb-spice flavor of bitters, all of it balanced with the subtle burn of brandy. It tasted like Wisconsin. It tasted like home.

Perched on the edge of her glass was an orange slice speared by a toothpick and topped with a dark-red cherry. She popped the cherry into her mouth and chewed. It was a good one, not the plasticky kind. This one burst on her tongue in a sweet bomb of flavor, with a boozy kick letting her know it had been soaked in brandy.

The batter was crispy, like tempura, but it didn't have much flavor other than beer- which was fine, but not what he wanted. It added a malty bitterness that didn't balance right with the cheese. He wanted everyone to love these curds, not just beer fans. And it didn't have the crunch he wanted. It was too tender, which meant perhaps a batter wasn't the route to go. Maybe breadcrumbs would give him the texture and structure he craved. But the cheese- the cheese was perfect. Melty, stringy, yet still retaining a bit of the squeak that made fresh cheese curds so special. It would be easy enough to get the supplies from a local dairy or even the grocery stores. In Wisconsin, great cheese was easier to find than a bagel in New York. He ate another one. The cheese itself was salty. What would work with that? Something with a little sweetness? Like a Wheat Thin or a graham cracker? He could mix crushed graham crackers with breadcrumbs for his next attempt.

She dug into the already melting ice cream and scooped out a dripping spoonful. The hot and cold mixed in her mouth, chocolate and vanilla, sweet and a touch of bitter from the dark chocolate. The perfect balance of opposites.

Homemade fudge sauce. Her favorite. She stuck her finger in it and sucked the chocolate off. "There's ice cream in the freezer. YOLO-gurt, right?

I like to try new recipes. I'm mastering Wisconsin cuisine." Ray wanted to keep her talking, discover more about her and why she kept popping up wherever he went. "Wisconsin cuisine? Is that even a thing?" Sabrina asked. He smiled. "Have some state pride. You know, kringle, booyah, fish boils, cheese curds. Do you have a favorite?" Sabrina took a few breaths before responding. "Kringle... and anything with cheese.

Time to savor a predinner cocktail or three while noshing on the relish tray, an assortment of raw vegetables, pickles, olives, cheese spread, and crackers, all against the din of clinking silverware and guest conversation. Then came a leisurely meal of grilled steaks with herbed butter served on sizzling metal plates, buttered shrimp sprinkled with parsley, and crispy tender potatoes, probably topped with melting cheese. Then to the bar for an after-dinner drink to end the evening on a sweet note.

He selected a cookie and bit into it, the buttery crispness dissolving on his tongue- not overly sweet, with a nice kick of vanilla. It was a damn good cookie.

I'm not interested in an old-fashioned. My last old-fashioned left me for a craft mocktail.

Spoons are gone,” Sabrina said, and shuffled from the room. The conversation continued as she left, but she no longer cared to listen. She’d played her get-out-of-jail-free card. “Spoons” was their code word for when she needed to retreat. Spoon theory was the best way to describe how a day could sap her energy. Everyone started each day with a number of spoons, some people started with more than others. Every activity used up a certain number of spoons, and when they were gone, then the energy was gone for the day. For Sabrina, everything required a lot of spoons, and she didn’t have many to begin with.