Dear Ms. Ephron,
I cordially invite you to have lunch with me.
Knowing how fond you are of cooking, you are more than welcome to come to my humble apartment in the Raleigh suburbs. And while I'm no Julia Child (or even Julie Powell, for that matter), I'm sure I can handle boeuf bourguignon (although I don't think I can say it). I also make a decent shrimp scampi, and I now know the difference between sesame tahini and sesame oil (not that either belong in scampi). And have you ever had my chocolate amaretti cake? It's fabulous, I promise you.
Or perhaps we can cook something together, perhaps from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything. You would especially love the bread recipes.
If you're up for neither, Raleigh has some great restaurants. Porter's, for example, makes a mac and cheese to die for. Or The Flying Biscuit -- my mouth waters at the mere mention of The Flying Biscuit. Or I could come to New York. We could venture out to Brooklyn and eat at Junior's. Or simply find a pizza dive. My treat, of course.
We'd have many things to talk about during lunch. We can talk about being women, New York, purses, men, and perhaps swap a recipe or two. And writing. What I really want to talk to you about is writing. I enjoy your writing, Ms. Ephron. I enjoy what you write about. I relate to your writing about what you know. I appreciate your sense of humor. Your writing has inspired my writing. I even mentioned you in the acknowledgements of my novel.
It doesn't have to be a long lunch -- I know you're a busy woman.
So what do you say? Will you have lunch with me?
I look forward to hearing from you.