The Dilettante

I dreamt last night that I made a big squash soup for an even bigger party, a party full of people from the past– people I hadn’t seen in years and didn’t care about when I did see them. I was nervous; it was a recipe I hadn’t tried before and I’d decided after a torturous dreamlike decisionmaking process to add a dash of some sort of smuggled mutant super-habanero sauce to the stuff.