A Cooking Life

Dish of My Dreams

Eight years ago on Labor Day I threw what was probably the most significant dinner party of my life. The universe had pointed out the guy I would spend the rest of my life with, but I was at a loss as to how to secure his attention. That night, I hosted a Mexican feast and invited the fellow in question along with a number of friends we happened to have in common. He was about to move into a house a mile up the road from me, and inviting him to dinner seemed like the neighborly thing to do. He stayed after everyone else had left, and we sat and talked long into the night. We've hardly been apart since – we were married 5 months later and live happily in the house a mile up the road.

When I mentioned last week that I'd invited guests for dinner over the weekend, my wise husband suggested that I cook Mexican.

Happy Anniversary, My Sweet

Six years ago, on a cold Monday night in February, TJ and I stood in front of the woodstove in our living room and, certified by a local Justice of the Peace and witnessed by my best friend, pledged to one another our troth. We were both wearing jeans. Afterwards (and after signing the required documents) we shared a bottle of champagne with the JP and my friend. When they left, I made a simple risotto for our dinner.

The following weekend, when the kids were down, we invited about 20 friends over and TJ cooked up a paella and we all drank and toasted. Later, that summer, when family and friends were freer to travel, we rented a big white tent and had about 100 of our nearest and dearest here for tapas, paella (3 of them, tag-teamed by TJ and his Dad and uncle), and wedding cake (and lots of beer, wine, and sangria). I've never in my life understood the mania surrounding weddings and luckily, neither had TJ. So we married in a way that was simple and true to ourselves. To all the women who insisted I would forever regret not wearing a dress: I haven't yet and surely never will.

Yesterday was our anniversary. We usually go out to dinner, but I was in a cooking mood.

My Husband's Apple Pie

Is that not a thing of perfect beauty? My husband made it. He thinks of himself as simply an adequate cook, but I beg to differ. An adequate cook doesn't turn out an exemplary apple pie, and his is exemplary. I've never cared a fig for apple pie, but I'd have eaten the whole thing myself. (I think a certain 3-yr.-old would say the same, judging from the way she carefully finessed a giant slab into her tiny mouth). I'd post a recipe but it would be beside the point. Honey, that's a mighty fine pie.