Once upon a time, an increasingly long time ago, two
young persons sat down to Valentine’s Day dinner. It was served on the floor of
an attic studio on a slab of wood. The two individuals made cautious
conversation as they dined on tinned chicken and dumplings, Swiss Miss hot cocoa,
and peanut butter cookies made from an envelope. They were obviously smitten
with each other, but the newness of their relationship and the outer pressures of The Most Romantic Holiday kept everything at arm’s length. The smell of old
books mingled with the food and conversation.
Last night two persons celebrated their thirteenth Valentine’s
Day dinner on the floor and ate off of a slab of wood. So many things the same,
but so much changed. The couple was now in the living room of their own house,
with two little boys asleep upstairs. There was absolutely nothing on the slab
of wood that came from a can or envelope. There was hot cocoa, yes, but it was
called chocolat chaud and only the
finest Ghirardelli chocolate, whole milk, pure vanilla, and carefully whisked and
strained cocoa powder and sugar contributed to its rich finish. The two were
obviously smitten with each other, and thirteen years had softened the
pressures of having to force romance. The conversation flowed easily. (And the
smell of old books was relegated to the back room.)
Roy and I reminisced over a baker's dozen February 14ths over the
makeshift wooden table. We couldn’t remember a single night where we had
actually ventured out to a restaurant. We almost always shelve our celebration
for another evening when reservations aren’t mandatory and there is the possibility
of a bit of space. After a year plus of Date Nights In, our choice was easy
this year. We will stay in and cook a remarkable dinner for ourselves, trusting
Ashley to have created a menu that equaled or bettered anything we could find
in the wider world. (For our budget anyway.)
This Date Night In was extremely sensory. You could hear
the loaf of artisan bread crackling within itself as it cooled on the
countertop. The cheese sizzled in the cast iron skillet as we dipped in meat,
vegetables, fruit, and the most incredible tiny French pickles I’ve ever tasted over and over. The purple potatoes were as surprisingly royal on the inside
as their skins and the red salami met the bright green of a Granny Smith apple.
The flavor combinations were seemingly endless and we were granted enough food
and time to try them all. We ate with forks and with fingers. Despite the best
preventative measures there were little chocolate moustaches to wipe away. It
was wonderful.
Here are some pictures.
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| This is Walnut Bread. But in reality it is a no-knead loaf that tastes more like bread from a real bakery than anything I've ever made. The secret is to bake it in a cast iron Dutch oven with the lid on to trap the steam and create a crackly, chewy crust. We borrowed a Dutch oven for the occasion but were so won over that I ordered our own this morning. |
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| Salade Verte with Hazelnut Vinaigrette. Basically butter lettuce with a homemade dressing. |
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| A fine red wine salami. |
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| Grainy mustard and chunks of walnut bread. |
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| Butter and Shallot Poached Potatoes. |
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| Cornichons. Tastes a bit like a cross between a pickle and an olive. A staple on any pickle tray under my purview from now now. |
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| Apple, cornichons, potatoes. It's worth noting that we were so hungry and distracted by the skillet of melted Raclette that we forgot entirely to take a picture of it. Rest assured, it was beautiful at every level. |
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| Chocolat chaud. Like our cutesy little V Day mugs? Roy threatened to throw these out a couple of weeks ago and I'm glad we held out. Not the best picture, but it was, most definitely, the best hot chocolate. |
I will never stop dating you. There may not always be a fried chicken
sandwich, beef tenderloin cooked to a pink perfection, creamy panna cotta
topped with tangy roasted fruit or even a homemade soda spiked with bourbon,
but there will always be me, you, and time without distraction.
The main message remains the
same: for as long as I’m alive, I will wake up every morning and say yes to
you. Sometimes I will do it with a great joy pounding in my heart, ad other
times I will do it because of the promise we made so long ago. Regardless, I
will continue to choose you over and over again.
-Ashley Rodriguez, DNI p. 269
