Three years ago yesterday, I arrived (a couple minutes late, of course) at what would end up being my last first date. It was a date that lasted eight hours, and didn’t end with a kiss (yes, I still occasionally get razzed for that). What did follow this marathon date were innumerable emails, texts, phone calls, and late-night viewings of dvr-ed Futurama…oh, and then, about a year and a half later, there was a marriage proposal. In Paris. Because we are jerks like that.
So, how does one celebrate an anniversary that falls just a month before one’s wedding? With Ina Garten recipes! And champagne! Observe…
There were gifts! But don’t be fooled– this box contains socks and t-shirts. Oh yes, the romance is still very much alive.
See? You send the man to the grocery store on his way home from work because you forgot to get blueberries, and he comes home with flowers. Win!
The pre-dinner libations: whiskey sours, Ina recipe #1. Totally worth making the simple syrup and squeezing the fresh lemon and lime juice. Also, very pleasantly boozy. Not pictured: pigs in blankets– a snack that I find generally pretty gross, but GP loves. Compromise, y’all!
The dinner! It was my first time making any type of steaks at home, but the Safeway guy assured me these ribeyes would be delicious (and they were, with just a little salt, pepper, and olive oil)– oh, and on top? That would be Ina’s Provencal butter. So worth dirtying up the food processor. Also pictured: not-fancy-at-all, previously frozen fries, and broccolini with balsamic vinaigrette.
And for dessert? Ina to the rescue again (with even more butter) with a summer fruit crostata. So, so easy and delicious, especially because I was able to find some gorgeous peaches at the market. Because we were celebrating (because nothing says happy anniversary like dessert and a West Wing episode), there was some Gloria Ferrer Royal Cuvee. Fanciest Tuesday night. Ever.
This guy…I think I’ll keep him around. Also, I think I’ve discovered how Ina has kept Jeffrey around for all these years– pump him full of butter, and his heart will give out at anything faster than a brisk walk.