GABY, STACEY LEE, TOM, MARTY, AND JACOB

JACOB HELD A SMALL, crisp piece of whole-grain ciabatta bread an inch from his mouth. On the ciabatta was a slice of foie gras. On top of the foie gras was a paper-thin layer of chocolate, and on top of the chocolate was the tiniest glob of jellied wine—a Sauternes.

“You look like a little kid about to take his cod-liver oil,” said Tom, who was wearing one of his old Flyers sweatshirts and still looked like a first-string athlete.

Jacob put the food in his mouth and cringed. Suddenly his fearful expression changed to one of almost dreamy ecstasy. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly. Finally he spoke.

“Now I know what the angels eat for dinner.”

“Wrong religion, Jacob,” said Marty. “But probably true.”

This was the food tasting and food testing for the wedding reception. Tough duty. They would be selecting from among several wines: red, white, sparkling. Stacey Lee had prepared twelve hors d’oeuvres, from which they were to choose four. She and Gaby had prepared eight entrees. Three of them were poultry—guinea hen with olives and capers; chicken breast with goat cheese; coq au vin with Riesling (“An old Lutèce thing that no one ever gets tired of,” Stacey Lee said). Another three were seafood—chunks of lobster between layers of puff pastry; wild sea bass with braised fennel; Cajun shrimp and crawfish with “careless dabs of red and black caviar.” Finally, there were two vegetarian dishes—a plate of miniature pattypan squash, miniature yellow squash, miniature lima beans, and miniature scallions (“I thought scallions were miniature onions to begin with,” said Marty) and homemade spinach fettuccine with a porcini sauce.

“These are the best twenty meals I ever ate at one sitting,” said Tom. “Just like the old training table in Philly.”

The men couldn’t get enough food. At one point Marty and Tom actually raised their voices over who got the last mouthful of sea bass. (They split it.)

“If the wedding’s half as good as the food tasting, then you’ve got a hit on your hands,” Marty said. “You and whoever. Whatever, whichever.”

The only problem was that they couldn’t come to an agreement about what should be eliminated from the final menu.

At that point—just when they were about to compare all-chocolate desserts with a grouping of fruit tarts with rosemary sorbet—Tom said, “I offer my services, free of charge, to be your store’s official taster.”

“I don’t think my accountant would allow it,” Stacey Lee said. The friends were definitely feeling rosy and happy.

Only Gaby was quiet. Whenever Stacey Lee asked her what dishes she preferred, she smiled and said, “Oh, you guys decide. I’m too nervous. It’s all good.”

As they all walked to their cars, Gaby took Marty aside. “Stay a minute? I have to ask you something.”