It is high summer, and the garden overflows—flowers in riotous bloom, beauty without restraint. Now is the moment to grill, to toss the wild salads of our lives. Let us not wait. We’ll slip outside beneath café lights and sip cold white Burgundy, as twilight hums around us.

September softens summer into a golden, welcoming light. We return to Israel for Saint Peter’s fish, smoky aubergine, grilled lemons, and saffron rice. The chill of white wine yields to the warmth of Pinot Noir. Whether indoors or under the stars, the night will gather us by the fire, where we’ll sip Arak deep into the dark.

Autumn arrives at last, with wind-blown leaves strewn like whispers across the ground. The garden quiets, ready for rest. Inside, a Tuscan stew simmers, bread waits eagerly for butter, lemon sorbet brightens the mouth. We gather by the candlelit table, leaning into its glow, as the Brunello breathes its slow magic.

The season has arrived. Gather around and Grace will surround. From the rustic beauty of boeuf bourguignon to the quiet elegance of cassoulet, the heart drifts to France—where comfort lives in food, and joy lingers in every glass of wine. Loved ones circle the table, Burgundy in hand, as music drifts and the fire dances in reply.

Winter’s wonder has arrived—pine and cinnamon linger in the air, the fire hums, and snow drifts softly beyond the old glass windows. The halls are dressed in joy, and voices of friends ring warm and near. Beneath a tree that shimmers in the hush of night, gifts wait like long awaited promises. Of all the seasons, this one sings the sweetest—where food is shared with love, where laughter fills every heart within Grace’s walls.