Moroccan dinner

Marrakech: and tale of a stylish Moroccan dinner party (Oh petals!)

She was French.  The kind of girl who was vegetarian, who loved India, who recycled. She had dreadlocks. She spoke many languages. She had home births. 

Oh, you get the picture.

One night there was a dinner at her house in Marrakech.  She lived in a plant nursery (her husband's business) where she had an organic cafe (her business).  She had invited six of us (lucky, lucky).

The dinner was her ode to mother nature.  (Did I mention that her name sounded very close to Aurora?) We were told to dress appropriately; I wore a dress that looked like the sea on a stormy day.

The almost-Aurora-girl had made a beach just for the occasion.  We took off our shoes.  We dug our toes in the sand. 

It was evening.  There were candles floating in a basin.

And lanterns in the prettiest colors.

There were drinks, bien sur.

And something akin to sheer pleasure...

Foot baths for each of us among the petals.  Why, in flower pots.

And raw food canapes. Oh!

Inside, a small potted jungle awaited. 

The table covered in petals, both printed......

and real...

And even delicately carved flowers on our plates, of the edible variety.

After we had had our fill of blossoms, there was desert.

Buddha was gazing at us serenely as we left late that night.  I thought I heard him say that in the next lifetime the almost-Aurora girl would come back as the sunset.  But perhaps that was just my imagination....