Questioning my culinary choices
Someone asked us the other day what we're doing for our first Valentine's Day. We hadn't really discussed, but I immediately blurted out, "I'm cooking." I am happy to go out to eat literally any other day than Valentine's Day or Mother's Day, and Mark just cooked for my birthday so...my turn. I know, I really do, that I didn't need to make a big production of it. But...that's not my nature. So I've been prepping tomorrow's dinner for the last three hours. Not bad, actually--the protein has been through the sous vide, an ice bath, and is resting in the fridge. The sauce for the main course is strained and put away. The palate cleanser granita is prepped & chilling. And I'm in the throes of trying to land a tortilla. The Spanish sort. I'm sure a therapist would have a heyday with that. "Why do you feel compelled to serve your new beau (as people keep calling him) a dish so tied to your ex?" Hell if I know. I love to...