I had walked the few blocks from my own apartment, along the East River promenade, toward the Queensboro Bridge, its majesty little diminished, even as it was pelted by the storm—fierce exclamation marks of snow. When I took a seat in Edward’s living room, snow obscured my view of the buildings lining the river on the Upper East Side as Manhattan seemed to grow silent, its twinkling lights barely reflected on the choppy waters. Wrapped up in the storm, I was startled when Edward suddenly called from the kitchen. “We need to work on your feminine enhancement.” I was too shocked to say much of anything and, instead, took it as my signal to come to the table. Sitting down, I snuck a taste of fennel rémoulade, which was already dished out onto small salad plates. It was meant as a second course, but I was impatient. Edward made his rémoulade in the Louisiana style, with cayenne pepper and mayonnaise, whipping it until the mixture turned a light rose.
What do You think about Dinner With Edward (2016)?
