He knows how to make a girl feel special.
For 40 years he has protested he doesn't know how to cook.
He never ceases to find ways to get to me. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I came home from work and found my man puttering around the kitchen as if he belonged there. I mean, don't get me wrong, he does belong there - but usually as the Sous-Chef. The one I give commands to. "Do this, do that, chop this just so, please get the spice I can't reach out of the cabinet." He's the one who cleans up after I make the meal. Or at least he was. I believe a new tradition has been born.
He did remind me that he is the one who grills burgers in the summer and used to make a mean pot of soup on the wood stove when the kids were little and off school for snow days. But that doesn't count as "cooking". Does it?
He found a recipe for fried apples. I didn't know there was such a thing as a recipe for fried apples... I just throw in a little butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon in a skillet with the apples and wala! His were unbelievably good. Maybe I'll use his recipe the next time I fry apples.
|Brown Sugar and spices for the apples... a little more butter, please...|
As he was building a fire (yes, we had a roaring blaze in the background as we dined), he happened onto a recipe in the newspaper he was using to get the fire started. It was for a honey mustard glaze for the rib eye steaks he was already planning on grilling. Oh my word they were good!
|Honey mustard glazed rib eyes on the grill|
A bottle of Nobelis Chambourcin Wine - perfect!
|Table for two - candles lit, wine poured, salad ready to go|
|What do you think? Did Whiskey get a bit of fat from those steaks?|
No matter how romantic the setting, time has to be set aside for the nightly ritual of catch the toys.
|Two out of three ain't bad|
Thank you Jim for a wonderful day after Valentines Day. I love you.
Up next... what he gave me.