hand, cooler in the other, and insulated bag slung over her shoulder—saw the Duval’s Decadence du Jour luxury utility vehicle parked in front of the town hall, rear hatch open while a staff of five expertly unloaded the prepared feast. The Hummer was shiny and black and, with its special-order Viking cooktop, side-by-side Sub-Zeroes, and tricked-out backseat that stored enough platters and flatware to serve a complete party of ninety, big enough to take up four spaces.
It took everything Lexi had not to bolt across Hunt Avenue, hide inside the tow truck at the service station—where Stan was known to keep a full fifth of Wild Turkey in the glove box—and gorge on the two dozen éclairs currently stored in her cooler.
Natasha and crew were competing for the same job. And no one had bothered to warn her. So Lexi, party of one, stood on the sidewalk, forced to watch platter after rectangular platter of deconstructed salmon niçoise salad and Vietnamese pork crepes sail by, knowing that she was outnumbered, outstaged, and, even worse, outcooked.
Lexi set the cooler bag down, reached inside, and grabbed an éclair. She had caved under the pressure and, determined to make Marc’s one-year plan a reality, gone with a boring baked pork chop and wild rice. Even her traditional round plates had porcelain envy.
“Stunning, isn’t it?” Natasha said, approaching from behind. Her designer dress stated refined elegance, while her ridiculously high and expensive heels advertised sexy sophistication with an eye for quality. Natasha was a walking billboard for couture cuisine, which had Lexi questioning her traditional black slacks and white chef’s jacket.
Natasha continued. “It arrived fresh from Alaska this morning. The greens and pork were brought over from this great little organic farm outside Marin. I didn’t want to bore the panel with local fare or food they’d all seen before. The Showdown is the one time a year that our town gets to showcase to the world our exquisite wine and cuisine.”
“By serving food from other places?” Lexi asked, some of her nerves fading.
Couture cuisine or not, Natasha had missed the point. The same point that the grannies had so eagerly explained to Lexi earlier that morning after they’d taken one look at her rolled pork loin and started whispering nervously among themselves. They’d reminded her that the Showdown was about celebrating local agriculture and tradition.
“Aren’t you afraid it’s a bit experimental for a group that was founded on preserving tradition?”
Natasha laughed. “Do you think it was traditional for women in the twenties to run illegal liquor?” She had a point. “Traditional can become expected and boring and gets old. And from one woman to another,” Natasha said, eyeing Lexi’s half-eaten éclair, “lighten up on those. You wouldn’t want to add ‘more to love’ to your Match bio.”
Lexi smiled sweetly, her last nerve officially gone. “You’re so nice to be thinking of how much I’m loved. But from one woman to another”—Lexi winked, something she’d picked up from Marc—“my boyfriend has that department well covered. Good luck today.”
Lexi gathered her cooler and made her way up the front steps of the town hall. As she passed under the St. Helena town flag swaying in the breeze and between the white columns that spanned the entire length of their most treasured town building, Lexi felt her breath catch and her confidence bubble up. Because there, to the left of the main entrance and several feet above an aged mahogany door with an iron grille speakeasy-hinged to the front, sat a historical placard.
The Back Barrel
Founded on August 17, 1923, with the sole purpose of serving the county of Napa, California, this is the original site of the Daughters of the Prohibition, a nonviolent, nonpolitical women’s society founded on the principles of promoting patriotism, preserving local tradition, and securing the valley’s future through the production, distribution, and consumption of wines, ciders, and spirited beverages of class.
This town and the DOP had been founded on the same principles that she had infused into her cooking: local pride, strong tradition, and lots of heart. And the DOP was going to take one look at her perfectly baked pork chop and realize that she was the perfect woman for this job. With the perfect menu to honor the return of their most treasured event. And how perfectly her understated elegance would highlight, rather than outshine, the wine tasting.
Balancing her chafing dish, bag, and cooler, Lexi made her way down the steps and pushed open the door.