When I was 10 years old my grandmother died.
My grandmother Lucille (who owned the Wavecrest Resort in Montauk) passed away in October and instead of heading to Montauk (the only place we EVER spent our summers), my parents shifted gears and announced that we were now going to a place called Westhampton.
In an attempt to distract themselves, my parents tried to start new rituals for my sister and I. And while most of the places felt like shiny new shoes (in the wrong size), that we desperately were trying to fit onto our feet, we did find one spot that became a homey ritual of warmth, great food, and laughs. It was a small gourmet food store called The Barefoot Contessa.
I remember loving the place early on: how pretty it was, how good it smelled, the line outside to get in, and once in the store, how privileged we all felt. I think I loved the place most because we were all happy there. It became a ritual—one we needed that summer.
