Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Burning Love

                As we all know, Valentine’s Day was last week.  Did you have a good one?  What did you do?  I need ideas for next year, and the year after.
               Personally, I’m a fan of any day Boyfriend feels obligated to bring me flowers.  He’s always been good about celebrating this girly day with me and this year was no exception.  Forgoing crowded restaurants over the weekend and definitely on Tuesday he suggested doing crab legs at home.  I’m pretty sure there is no better meal than king crab legs.

                What I didn’t know was king crab legs cost $27/lb to buy them.  So I’m standing in the store, staring at the price tag and considering what kind of effort it is going to require, on my part, to eat these particular crab legs.  Now after Christmas we went to Shimshacks per a Christmas gift certificate from Boyfriend’s mom and got their Viking platter of seafood for like $75. (Marilyn Monroe and Joe D ate there.  It's charming in it's own, teal colored way.) On this platter we got a pound of crab, hot AND cracked for us, four lobster tails, and shrimp scampi.  Plus it included two salads and two appetizers that were also sea food. 

                Instead, we decided to grab two lobster tails and two bacon wrapped filets, at a more ideal price point.  Boyfriend mans the seafood, my job is to cook everything else.  That’s how it’s always been, that may not be how it remains. 

                I had never done steaks, and especially a bacon wrapped filets, in the house. Ever.  Obv while the lobster tails defrosted I Googled what I was supposed to do.  I’m not one to take a single website at it’s first word so I cross checked the recommendations against three or four websites.  It said, heat pan with oil and sear each side of the filet for three minutes before finishing in the oven.  On it.

                I watch a lot of Food Network.   These shows have taught me to never put fish or meat in a cold pan.  Cold pans = sticking.  I know this. 

                Boyfriend threw the lobster in to heat up.  And I had the filets out to warm to room temperature.  I turned my pan on to medium high.  Waited a minute, added my oil to fill the bottom of the pan, dropped in my filet to sear it and got two feet of flames.   Literally.  Twenty-four inches.  Licking up around the microwave that is the hood of my stove.  Boyfriend grabbed the pan so now we’re both standing in the middle of the kitchen, him holding fire, me trying to decide if it’s going to go down on its own or how to get to the baking soda, which is on the other side of the flames, in the pantry.
                After about 30 seconds we’ve figured out that grease fires do not, in fact, go out on their own and I would have to get the baking soda.  I ducked around the flames, grabbed the baking soda and threw it over his shoulder putting out the fire.  I consider myself a hero.  Boyfriend does not agree. But somehow, I managed to not completely cover the filet in baking soda when I doused the fire and since I’m a good girlfriend and choose to eat the less fortunate steak always, my stomach votes hero.  I should give him credit though, for not just throwing out my dinner.

                After further review, I learned that butter is the better choice for steak searing purposes.  And then my BFF told me, one week late, I am supposed to put the oil in a COLD pan and let them heat up together.  Welldoesn’tthatjustmakeawholellotofsense.  Thanks a lot internet for not being specific on A.) the amount of oil to be used. B.) when to add said oil. Also, news to me, apparently you need a minuscule amount of oil.

                So.  Now I know.

                I chose not to sear his filet and just toss that little guy in the oven.  He chose to give me a side-eye and judge me every 30 seconds for the next two days.  I also suggested we choose not to light the candles on our dining room table for the romantic dinner.  I do, however, say yes to Federal Meats for providing me with melt-in-your-mouth dinner even for those who are not particularly talented in preparing them.

                I may have deserved the side-eye - our house smelled of bonfire for the next two whole days.

Salvageable?  I say yes.  He says no.  Please vote.
               Also - he was way cute and super thoughtful and got me some new jams.  Apparently I tend to “look like a homeless person for sleeping.”  I’m certain I don’t know why that would be a problem, but I’ll take some cute jams as an acceptable alternative.

                But, it was kind of my idea.  I may or may not have asked for these a month ago as a joke.  He said my idea needed some modification.  He might be right.  He also said that he would not buy me those for Valentine's Day because “you would look like Ralphie from A Christmas Story".  Sooo...are you saying that's not sexy?  Maybe I can get some hoodie-footies next time. 
 Cross your fingers.


Thursday, February 9, 2012


                I don’t know about you but I…took the long way around when it comes to love. Where I come from it’s a land of high school sweethearts and quick weddings right out of high school.  You can ask anyone who knew me from my prior life, that this girl has never quite fit that mold.  And that’s not to say I didn’t try.  I have a high school yearbook with statements like “invite me to your wedding.”  Wait. What?

                I went away to college.  Learned who I was, separate and independent of everyone and everything.  Then I graduated, and stated working and “dating” Mr. Big himself.  No seriously, HBO people came to Western NY, creeped in his window and went back and scripted that Sex and the City character.  I walked away from that a bruised spirit with a jaded impression of love and perhaps even life.

                I was a young, 23 year old, new job, new apartment, looking to make sense of where she’s at. And in one of those seemingly, serendipitous moments that can have no explanation other than providence, I meet Him.   He’d dodged this application training for over a year, I’d just started the new job and needed to learn the tools.  All the people I knew got there before me, and no one saved me a seat.  I grabbed the first empty, next to some guy.  He’d seen my name, I’d heard his cursed in staff meetings as notoriously unresponsive.  And in a moment of innocence, perhaps with intention to flirt I clicked on MLB.com.   With an instantaneous whisper from the seat next to me confirming I was checking in on the New York Yankees, I knew I had his attention. 

Answering a question moments later on the internal Instant Message system, he commented how he’d never used it.  Parting ways after the training session he mentioned he was too busy being awesome (editor’s note: he didn’t say that, but we all know that was what he meant.) to come to the follow up session the next day.  Ok then, see ya never.  I get back to my desk and immediately get an Instant Message from the Yankee’s fan, who had never used the IM before(?), half asking me out for drinks.  The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast forward two and a half years.  As I sat in our kitchen this week, sewing a hole in his shirt, after cooking him dinner, cleaning up, and following up on his request for me to switch over his laundry, I had one of those cartoon-esque moments.  My world came to a screeching halt.  What. The. Crap? and. How. Did. I. Get. Here?!  I’m staring at everything I never knew I wanted.  I’m cooking(?)  I’m resentfully emptying the dishwasher.  I’m volunteering to replace the seam in a shirt so he doesn’t look like a homeless person in real life. I’m planning meals, grocery shopping and accommodating his need to eat pop-tarts for breakfast at 33 years old.  We’re arguing about future pets.  We’re laughing about our day.  I sit here in a moment of realization. 

He hates that I wait two weeks, till I run out of undies to do my laundry.  I hate that he panics when there are only four towels left in the drawer.  He hates that I wait upwards of two (on a good trend) months to put said freshly cleaned laundry in its proper place.  I hate that he won’t hang the things I buy on the walls for months and months on end.

            I've grown up since 23.  We’ve grown up since I was 23.  We’ve experienced loss. And if nothing grows you more as a team, it’s a recognition of your own morality.  We’ve experienced joy.  New successes, friends, family, weddings, a niece that we could not love more – who is so fun to Skype with.  And if nothing brings you a little perspective it’s a long weekend away from each other to take a minute to remember what it is that you love.  

I learned, recently, thankfulness is the root of all joy.  I’ve done my best to implement in my daily life, right down to coming home to him with a smile, because well, I’m so very grateful for him.  He makes me laugh.  He drives me crazy.  We don’t often agree, but we don’t often argue.  Opposites attract after all, and we’re living proof. 

I do wish Christmas, his birthday, and Valentine’s Day were not so close together.  It really leaves me scrambling come V-day.  I mean who wants a front-loaded gift giving sitch? Seriously, February 14th is like my last gift giving obligation until next Christmas.  But I am thankful for him.  And don’t worry he usually ends up with like an Easter gift or a Labor day present – because I love giving presents.  Also, just because I love him.

Source: google.ca via Penny on Pinterest