I knew well beforehand that they would arrive late, driving in from New Brunswick, a long road trip, particularly after having driven there the day before, from Nova Scotia.  I also knew that they would arrive famished, and I had informed them that dinner would be waiting for them, whatever the time of their arrival.

We left the front door wide open, and when we heard little Riley barking furiously we knew they had pulled into the driveway.  It was after nine o'clock.  Earlier I had decided, despite that it was such a hot day, not to give them the simple fare of something cold and slapped together.

Hours earlier I had began cooking a polenta, because I thought it would be a good foil for the chicken dish I would also prepare for them.  Once the coarse cornmeal had thickened sufficiently I added a half-cup shredded old cheddar cheese, a tablespoon of butter, and a cup of fresh corn niblets cut from the cob, and then smoothed it all into a small casserole to bake until the top, sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, was brown and crusty.

While it cooled, I put the chicken into that same little toaster-oven (too hot to put on the big kitchen oven).  I had sprinkled pepper and garlic over the chicken breasts, then plenty of fresh ginger.  Over top that went chopped red pepper, and finally slices of fresh garden tomatoes, and a sprinkling of olive oil.  That baked in the little oven, at a low temperature for almost an hour and a half until the tomato was reduced and the chicken very well done, but moist and perfect.

When they arrived, the house was suffused with the tangy-sweet smell of the chicken dish.  That, the polenta and a sideplate of grape tomatoes, baby carrots and snowpeas made up their evening repast.  And then we talked, talked, talked the rest of the evening away until a late bedtime.