Some years ago, a dear friend called to say he was going to visit us. A few days later, he called again to ask if I could host a dinner party for him. I agreed with enthusiasm. I love to cook and Gregory knew it. He said he wanted to entertain a couple of young  friends and their girlfriends who were going to university in my city, four in all.
          Since I live in Quebec, I decided to make a French menu. I like to research my pleasure before I embark on a cooking project and always choose three or four recipes so I can see the what can be varied and still have the same name.

        

            I chose Coq au vin for the main course, to be served with noodles and vegetables. I went shopping for groceries: four huge chickens, four bottles of wine for the Coq au vin and more to drink, brandy, mushrooms, onions and more.

            The day before, I cut up the chickens and began cooking. By late afternoon, the dish was almost ready and just had to be finished.

            The day of the dinner party arrived and so did our friend. With family, friends and his guests, we planned on 16 for dinner. I was busy in the kitchen and Gregory decided it was time to give his friends directions to our house. He called the phone number he had been given. No response. He kept trying. Still no response. Eventually he spoke to one person who said he would contact the others and return the call. We waited. Nothing. Meanwhile, my pot with what seemed to be an immense amount of chicken, simmered on the stove. The noodles and vegetables were prepared to be cooked just before dinner, the first course was waiting, the dessert was in the fridge and some of us had started on the first bottle of wine.  
                
            Finally, at 5:00 p.m., I decided to act. I was calm. Knowing Gregory had  a connection to some other realm, I said that I didn't care how many people were coming.  But it was time to finish setting the table. Would  he please find out just how many we would be? He left the kitchen and went to a quiet room to "listen." A few minutes later, he returned. "We will be nine," he said with certainty, "including children." I immediately prepared the table and we began calling friends. Would they like to come to dinner?

            Gregory's friends never appeared. We invited a couple who, it turned out, had become vegetarian, but consented to "just taste the sauce." Another friend did not drink wine, nor did the two children, of course. We were nine, as Gregory predicted. Those of us who were able to enjoy the whole meal were well fed and happy. By then, the whole event was already on its way to the family annals. 

            The remainder of the Coq au vin went into the freezer. Gregory went home, but I was able to thank him for dinner several times over the next few weeks.
             
Addendum:
Next time I make Coq au vin, I shall try the recipe on Wikipedia, Perfect Coq au vin by Nigel Slater. Also, both Elizabeth David and Larousse Gastronomique  say one can reduce the quantity of wine.