In ancient Rome a nervy priest married Christian couples behind the Catholic emperor's back, and now men buy teddy bears or Russell Stovers for their wives and girlfriends, and send synthetic lingerie to their mistresses.
Unless you are a very lucky girl, and were quite uncynically surprised by beautiful flowers and a package arranged and couriered by the lovely May, of NATIONALE.
Merci, mon amour. Thank you also to Maggie's thoughtful delivery of two delicious morsels from ALMA.
I observed a very large, yet incredibly subdued, crowd chow down that night on pork loins & duck breasts, items whose aphrodisiacal monikers were overshadowed by the lingering prediction of a wise restauranteur, that Valentine's is only for "fucking or fighting." I myself felt I had the true lover's meal that morning when Willis prepared Laurel and I a bowl of garlic soup a deux with two beautiful poached farm eggs floating like the nipples of Venus herself upon that golden, silky broth. To finish those last sips with your dining companion and not mind that sweet perfume, containing a potent ingredient, "allicin," that apparently actually increases blood flow and libido: To hell with "romance"!
The February 14th meal is supposed to be the feast of Saint Valentine, after all, so how about a long table surrounded by beautiful people, piled mile high with oysters and bottles of bubbly, where a short course-ship of razor clams, sausages and figs is finished with a cigarette?
If you are feeling more romantic, just send your Valentine a natural specimen courtesy of Farmer Laura, like this January treat for two I saved from Navarre demolition.
(Picture taken by Zebradore.)
I heard a lot of people scoff - clearly not in the spirit - that we should act like "Valentine's Day is every day." Indeed, humbuggers, indeed. And what better way than taking a trip a Russian grocery and picking yourself up some St. Valentine tea?
A rich black tea scented with rose petals, my household has been under this love spell since the first cup. L'chaim!