When I was growing up, my parents had a group of friends who took turns inviting the rest of the gang to their homes for meals. This was not accomplished willy-nilly, but had a rhythm. If the group had last eaten at the Millers’ place, the Millers would not host again until each of the other couples had served up a meal. The rotation began again when it was the Millers’ turn. Invitations to these fêtes were only given to members of the crowd. Newcomers never seemed to be a consideration, as this was a tightly knit community of friends who had known each other for years.

Janet and I, too, have had our groups with whom we share meals, but we socialize with many different cohorts: friends from our movement class, neighbors, former work colleagues, expats we’ve gotten to know when we’re in Oaxaca. All of these gatherings seem to embrace newcomers, so our circle of acquaintances grows.

That said, we were still surprised when Enid, whom we’d met only once at another expat’s home, bumped into us at a concert and invited us to a late comida (lunch) at her apartment a week from that day.

We assumed we were the only ones invited, but got to her place and discovered four other people there: two gay couples who were schmoozing and sipping cocktails as Enid ceremoniously poured them. I went up to Enid and asked for a glass of the rosé Janet and I had brought, while Jeff took Janet under his wing on a tour of Enid’s magnificent apartment. Pierre (originally from France) began to regale the rest of us with tales of his travels with Jan, his Dutch husband of 49 years. Jan added, “Because of my dad’s line of work, I moved 11 times before attending university and didn’t really have lasting friendships until then.”

Perhaps because of that itinerant life, he became a master of languages and had just learned Japanese well enough to get around that country when he and Pierre traveled there.

While the two couples continued getting acquainted near the kitchen, nibbling on cheese and crackers on beautifully glazed ceramic trays and shallow, handmade bowls from Mexico and Italy, Enid walked Janet and me from room to room of her vast three-bedroom, three-bath apartment. Her first husband had been an artist who proposed to her after their first meeting, but she didn’t accept until two weeks later, when she saw his amazing paintings. Together they traveled extensively, and the walls of every room, including the bathrooms, were covered with his paintings. The tables and bookshelves were adorned with sculptures: Mexico’s fantastical, intricately painted and carved wooden animals called alebrijes; wall hangings from Vietnam; and other handicrafts picked up from their many trips all over the world.

At one point, I asked, “Why did you choose to go to Egypt?” Enid replied, “Why not?”

After admiring Enid’s digs, we were called to the table. The first course was a delicious, chunky watermelon gazpacho. I immediately asked if she would part with the recipe, as I was already musing about writing about the intriguing day we were having. She couldn’t recall exactly whom she’d gotten the recipe from, but since I fiddle with and rework any recipe I get, I knew it would be fine to not attribute it to anyone in particular. I would make it my own.

Soon, three enormous, colorful platters were brought to the table, each with a different theme, along with slices of an excellent, nutty, multi-grain bread that the other couple (Americans David and Jeff) had bought at a store we all knew had fine baked goods. There was softened, imported butter on the table for smearing on the bread, if one so desired. We all desired.

The first platter was piled with top-quality jarred tuna, cubes of salami, juicy tomato wedges, sliced cucumbers and olives of every sort. Next was a dish laden with grilled vegetables, including eggplant, bell peppers, potatoes, carrots, broccoli, string beans and zucchini, drizzled with a zesty vinaigrette. The final platter held freshly steamed artichoke wedges, including some leaves and the always coveted hearts, and halved hard-boiled eggs with a bowl of mustardy mayonnaise. Personally, I would’ve made creamy deviled eggs dusted with smoked paprika instead of chalky hard-cooked eggs, but that’s just me.

Conversation flowed easily, as we flitted from topic to topic, often about everyone’s travels. When Janet and I were asked where we travel to, I answered, “This is it. We come to Oaxaca.” As the sky darkened, we were presented with a dish of chocolate pudding Enid had made using tofu (which one would have never guessed) and served with crunchy, cigar-shaped, hand-dipped chocolate cookies. We bade our new friends good evening and Janet and I, stuffed to the gills, walked home in the cool night air. “In a way, we’ve found a new community of friends,” Janet said to me. “True,” I commented, somewhat absentmindedly. I was already dreaming of making that delicious watermelon gazpacho, which I knew I would try to duplicate in the very near future.